Vultures of the Imperium
by Pixo
Summary: Vulture Gunships are quick, agile and utterly lethal. They hunt and stalk their prey with an ease that belies the pilot's skills. Those men and women are not simple grunts, they are the Imperium's unsung elite.
1. Technical Specifications

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_+ From the data-slate of Senior Enginseer Fulcrum Iso +  
+ 879.996 M41 +  
+ Operational attachment: Beligarso, 99th Aviation Regiment, Ugly Squadron_ +

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_**~ Adeptus Mechanicus Departmento Manafacturum ~  
**__~ Technical Specifications ~_

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_**Vulture Gunship**_

Crew: Pilot, Co-pilot/ Gunner  
Operational Ceiling: 11,000m  
Max Speed: 1,100kph  
Range: 2,000km in atmosphere  
Forge Worlds of Origin: Mars, Voss, Artemia, Estaban VII, Agripinaa, Phaeton, Lucius  
Known Patterns: _Mark I - X  
_Main Armament: Nose mounted Heavy Bolter  
Main Ammunition: 1,200 rounds  
Secondary Armament: 4x under wing hardpoints for various weapon systems  
Available Secondary Armaments: Autocannons, Lascannons, Hellstrike Missiles, Rocket Pods, External Fuel Tanks  
Secondary Ammunition: Varies by weapon and vehicle loadout  
Powerplant: 1x F200-KW4 Afterburning Vector-Turbojet  
Weight: 9 tonnes, empty type  
Length: 19.2m  
Wingspan: 14.2m  
Height: 4.9m  
Armour: Superstructure 75mm, Hull 75mm

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_**Valkyrie**_ _**Airborne Assault Carrier**_

Crew: Pilot, Navigator/Gunner, 2x Door Gunner  
Troop Payload: 12x Guardsmen or 4x Cyclops Demolition Vehicles or 2x Tarantula Sentry Guns or 1x Drop Sentinel  
Operational Ceiling: 13,000m  
Max Speed: 1100kph  
Range: 2,000km in atmosphere  
Forge Worlds of Origin: Mars, Voss, Artemia, Estaban VII, Agripinaa, Phaeton, Lucius  
Known Patterns: _Mark I - X  
_Main Armament: Hull mounted Multi-laser, 2x door-mounted Heavy Bolters  
Main Ammunition: 150 shots from powerpack, 1,000 rounds per Heavy Bolter  
Secondary Armament: 2x under wing hardpoints for various weapon systems  
Available Secondary Armaments: Autocannons, Lascannons, Hellstrike Missiles, Rocket Pods, External Fuel Tanks  
Secondary Ammunition: Varies by weapon and vehicle loadout  
Powerplant: 2x F75-MV Afterburning Vector-Turbojets  
Weight: 13 tonnes, empty  
Length: 18.5m  
Wingspan: 16.9m  
Height: 4.8m  
Armour**:** Superstructure 75mm, Hull 75mm

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_**Thought of the Day: **__When the Titans walk, only the dead have no fear._

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	2. Cloth of Sebastian Thor

**Vultures of the Imperium**

**Volume I - Chapter I**

**Ugly**

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"_Pukes!_"  
-Tradition Beligarso word of insult

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"You have visual with the big building at our eleven? Put us in circuit around it," said the gunner over the intercom.

"We've got to be quick, we're getting some interest from the west," returned the pilot.

"I just want to have a quick look," the gunner replied.

The pilot maneuvered his gunship up near the towering, ruined building. The building was abandoned and derelict, and had been so for months. The late day sun reflected off the few panes of glass that had managed to survive the war. In the reflection the pilot caught a quick glance of his aircraft.

A Vulture gunship. Built around a single powerful engine and crooked wings with vector-jets, the craft had a strange and awkward appearance - buzzard-ish, like its namesake. The dual-canopy cockpit hung low, there the gunner and pilot sat. The wings hung down, draped like limp wings and ended in large, heavy-duty landing skids. Another pair of stabilizer fins sat behind and below the main wings. An H-shaped tail assembly protruded alongside the big engine provided the craft with great stability.

Vultures were atmospheric aircraft with vertical take-off and landing properties, thus giving them great maneuverability and air-agility. Capable of quick acceleration and a rapid rate of a climb Vultures could get in and out of tight spots, which is why they often accompanied Valkyrie air assault carriers. However, their primary role was close air-support for infantry, and they performed that role admirably.

The brief flash showed the craft's dark green paint job and a hand-painted logo on the side, an angry-faced sun with muscled arms wielding a heavy bolter while smoking a huge cigar – the word, _Sunfire_, scrolled underneath the icon.

Above the icon, stenciled under each canopy was a name, the forward hatch read _Sgt_. _Sun_, the rearward read _Lt_. _Jonah. _White skull emblems, kill markers, were painted the side of the cockpit, four under Sun's name, and eight under Jonah's.

Pilot Jonah brought the craft to near standstill and slowly crept forwards, peeking just the nose around the building. While wearing their flight helmets they could only hear a small amount of noise from the huge engine a few meters behind them, though they could feel the force, the energy, it created. Gunner Sun looked left and the nose-mounted heavy bolter slaved to his helmet-mounted gunsight followed every move of his head.

"Got something," he said, and after a pause, "Firing."

The heavy bolter roared and vibrations tickled the crewmen's feet.

On the pilot's wraparound console were dozens of controls, dials, handles, screens and read-outs. Four pedals were underfoot. One screen followed the pict-zoomer mounted next to the nose-gun. In the high-resolution, black and white camera feed Jonah watched as the huge bolter rounds punched into a cluster of figures. Some blew apart in a splatter of blood and dirt, others ran for cover.

Flying at fifty feet meters, he pulled the craft out from behind the buildings, presenting it fully. Sun sent another flurry of bolter rounds, this time destroying an overturned vehicle and whoever was sheltering behind it.

Now that they were between the two towering buildings Jonah moved forward slowly, cautiously, nose angled down. Sun's head traveled left and right and so did the heavy bolter, tracking for targets. While swift, agile and certainly deadly, stealth was not a part of the Vulture's arsenal. The craft's powerful VTOL jets blew dirt, debris and grit for fifteen meters. The sound created by the massive engine would be deafening and heard from up to a mile away.

"It's getting tight in here, what do you think?" Sun asked.

"Like you said, let's just have a look," Jonah replied.

Caution was advised when navigating in tight corridor like _Sunfire_ was in now. Standard operating procedure was that Jonah used the craft's powerful autocannons to deal with any threats that appeared in front of them, while Sun would hunt for anything that suddenly leapt out and attacked from their blindsides. If all else failed, the craft enjoyed a rapid forward acceleration and of course, the ability to fly straight up, backwards, or sideways.

A vehicle, maybe a truck or top-less lorry, flashed at the end of the street. It turned and powered at them. Knowing instantly they were not friendlies Jonah pulled the trigger; the twin-linked autocannons blasted the street briefly before he corrected the angle. At six hundred meters the first rounds struck the engine block, fist sized holes appeared on the hood, smoke and fire burst from under the chassis. Glass shattered as the rounds crept up into the cabin, the driver was liquefied. The flatbed, filled with weapon waving figures, exploded in a hail of blood and body parts. The vehicle swerved and slammed into the building.

A quick _beep_ over the aerial auspex indicted a nearby airborne contact. Beyond the building's end another Vulture lazily drifted into view. Its nose-gun turned, spat three feet of fire and sent a blast of bolter rounds at the rear of the big truck. As the old saying went, 'Kill it twice, just to be safe.'

The squadron vox channel crackled, "Ugly Four from Ugly Five."

"Go ahead, Five."

"That's a pretty tight fit, Ignis."

Jonah and Sun watched the other Vulture hover to a stop at the mouth of street, then slowly rotate in a 360 degree turn, checking for targets. The logo-icon showed a warhammer imposed on an Imperial prayer-book – _Thor's Faith_ was stenciled into the hammer's head. Melville and Caldwell's bird.

"Sure is," Jonah replied.

"What do you think, area clear?"

"Yeah, Ugly Five. Looks like the scum have moved off. I'm going to check the western approach of Toolmen's position. Care to accompany me?"

"Will do, Ugly Four," Melville replied.

Melville finished his rotation and rose to two hundred meters and angled to accompany Ugly Four.

Jonah tipped the nose of his bird up, shifting the craft to almost vertical. He turned his head to look out of the tinted canopy and slowly rotated the craft 180 degrees. The pressure wave of the engine broke nearby windows and rolled dead bodies down the street. He righted the nose and rose to two hundred meters and set off west.

That maneuver, which Vulture pilots called a 'head-topper' was a difficult move to pull off at the best of times. However, between two buildings that were barely wide enough to fit the Vulture in the first place, pulling of a head-topper and maneuvering his craft with balletic ease demonstrated Jonah's talent at handling gunships.

Some might have thought he was showing off, he was alright with that.

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The mission was a snatch and go. Dufor was a large town, deep in the enemy occupation zone, though largely ignored during the uprising. Not known to many, Dufor was also the home to one of the greatest holy treasures on the planet. At the Shine of His Golden Zenith, the small austere temple above which Ugly Squadron now patrolled was the Cloth of Sebastian Thor. Supposedly, in ages past it was the very cloth the great warrior-philosopher wore around his waist when he reclaimed this world, Morgan's World, in the name of the Emperor from the Ecclesiarchy traitor Goge Vandire during the Reign of Blood, in the late 36th Millennia. It was said he took the sash and wrapped the wounded arm of a very dear military aid – Morgan, for whom the world was named.

By means unknown the Great Foe, Chaos, planted the seeds of hate in the heart of the planetary governor and he corrupted the army commanders, who in turned corrupted the many military officers. Without warning the army rose and turned on it's own world. The tainted soldiers screamed, _Blood for the Blood God, Skulls for the Skull Throne_, as they destroyed all before them.

Only the island nation of Pirotta, geographically distant, economically poor, and politically inferior, held out long enough for the Imperial Navy to arrive. A dozen fully-fledged starships and troop-stuffed transports came to their salvation. The Imperial Liberation Force arrived and, with the help of the local star fleet, whom blessedly did not turn from the Emperor's Grace, secured the near-space around Morgan's World. Afterwards, the Navy immediately launched hundreds of Lightning air superiority fighters and heavy, thuggish Thunderbolt atmospheric fighters. After three weeks of relentlessly air battles, the Imperials destroyed every craft that took to the skies and within weeks they dominated the planet's airspace. With space and air supremacy achieved, the Imperial Guard was unleashed.

Firstly it was the penal legions of Cestus Vale, who suffered horrific loses, but found their redemption through sacrifice. After the convict-conscripts managed to create a tenable pocket on Morgan's World's primary continent, the main fighting forces landed and consolidated a secure and permanent position. They were three regiments of Cex soldiers – short, squat, dark-skinned soldiers from the moons of the Cex mining colony. They were grim and skilled fighters, and much of the success of the campaign hung on their willingness to face any odds. Additionally, two elite Beligarso units, the 75th Air-Assault Regiment and the 99th Aviation Regiment landed on-surface on Pirotta. From there they would fly out in their air transports, capture critical locations, destroyed ammo depots, and assisted the Cex ground assault by surprising the Foe with the suddenness of their arrival and their determination to complete their mission objectives.

Every day and night, dozens of crafts from the 99th were running attack sorties. The gunships were a terror to the enemy, and a compliment to their lethality that the Khorne cultists soon began to fear the very thundered of their powerful engines. The dark green Vultures hunted in packs, armed with an assortment of weaponry that allowed them to deal with anything short of a Titan. They would appear, unload with bolters, autocannons, lascannons, rockets, and missiles, then disappear as quickly as they had arrived, leaving confusion, disarray, and death.

The Imperial Navy's fighter wings turned their attention of the Morgan's traitor armor, and with the help of squadrons of Vulture gunships they were quickly destroyed. The Navy's bombers dropped a million tons bombs in the first six months alone. It had been a long six months ago, and the fighting had been hard. The infantry units had advanced well in those first months, but as the months crawled by it had become a dogged, sluggish affair. Causalities were high, replacements intermittent, and morale low, something was needed to boost their spirits.

Cults of Khorne were not known for their subtly and concern of the esoteric artifacts of the Imperium, nonetheless once the campaign commander, the Beligarso-born, Imperial Guard General Carinonova Draco III learned of the Cloth of Sebastian, he wanted it retrieved immediately. It would give his men heart. He tasked the Beligarso air-infantry Colonel Dios to bring him the Cloth.

The mission plan called for one company of the 75th's finest, _S_ Company led by the veteran Captain Sorn Toolman. The crack Stormtroopers were to land and secure the temple and it immediate environs. While Toolman's platoons set up a perimeter, the venerable Dios and a team of specialists, veterans and Ecclesiastic representatives would land and seek the Cloth itself. One hour, Colonel Dios had said in the pre-mission prep.

One Hour.

The mission had started awkwardly, it came as a surprise to the Stormtroopers when the Valkyries found the streets to narrow to land and they suddenly found themselves abseiling down quick-ropes instead of running down the ramp. It had taking a lot longer than planned. Already they had been on site for the better part of forty minutes, and still no sign of the Cloth of Sebastian.

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Captain Toolmen's position was deep in a cluster of low-level buildings, with a small temple at the heart. Most were ruined, torn apart by artillery and bombs months before when the local PDF attempted to hold this town. It was a perfect place of infantry soldiers to dig-in, set-up, and block any enemy forces of getting to near the temple. Above the temple flew two Vultures, moving in small orbits, ready to strike out with lethal force at a moment's notice. Further out two more Vultures flew larger orbits, strafing and blasting any targets which presenting themselves. Above them still were six Valkyrie transports flying in a holding pattern. Jonah and Melville had been tasked to offensive patrol, seeking targets of opportunity. Though, it seemed the targets were slim on the ground at the moment.

"Ugly Four, Ugly Five take up station on the west end," voxed Ugly's Squadron commander Captain Flem Odavos, "They've started taking fire and they'll be needing you in a few moments."

"Ugly Four copies," voxed Jonah and pulled his craft around and dropped altitude.

"Balor," he said over the intercom, "get ready to go hot, and pipe in ground unit vox."

"No problem, I'm already there," Sun replied.

As the pilot Ignis Jonah took charge of flying, navigation and operated the static facing weapons, the autocannons and rocket. Balor Sun the gunner/co-pilot was responsible for the flexible nose mounted weapon and did the bulk of the talking. Sun tapped the lower left screen on his console and reassigned vox frequencies, suddenly the vox speakers in both their helmets crackled with half-a-dozen voices talking - infantry units calling out to one another, seeking clarification or explaining ramifications. Remembering his briefing he knew third platoon would be holding the west-end, all of Toolman's platoons had various tool callsigns, and Sun selected Hammer frequency and called out, "Hammer three, Hammer three, this is Ugly Four."

A gruff voice replied back, "Hammer, copy."

"Hammer, where do you want me?" Sun asked.

"Hold, Ugly" he said, and after a long pause. "We're talking sporadic fire. But it shouldn't be long before the Foe wakes up and realize what we're up too. Until then just drift and kill, I'll shout if I need you."

"Solid Copy, Hammer" Sun said.

Jonah added a mutter over the intercom, " … _Slammer_." He looked down and saw a line of green-clad infantry hunkered down behind broken walls or metal debris or in bomb holes. Some looked up, shielding their eyes, some waved. Jonah shook the craft slightly, making the wings tilt back and forth quickly. He was waving back.

They cruised at one-fifty kilometers per hour. Occasionally Sun would spot something that took his interest and his head would turn, and the screen beside Jonah's knee would show debris or buildings. Occasionally the nose-gun would spit fire, shattering those scenes.

More and more lasbolts and tracer rounds whipped around. A few even _pinged_ off the hull. Small arm fire would not harm the craft, but any larger then a rifle was worth avoiding, or better yet destroying. Jonah pushed his throttle forward accelerate, and began to move into hunter-kill mode. The big engine hummed louder and the ruined landscape shot by quickly. Sun found more targets. The bolter was rarely quiet for more than a few seconds.

"Ugly Four! Hammer Three!" snapped the vox, "Air-support, ninety meters north. We're taking heavy fire from a long retaining wall. We're unable to bring any guns to bear."

"Acknowledged," Sun said.

_Sunfire _accelerated even further, passing over third platoon's position. They banked right and came parallel to the target, which gave them a perfect kill lane. Dozens of mud-dark figures hunkered down behind the wall, massing for an attack. Sun strafed something to their left, whatever it was, it exploded violently.

"Rockets out," said Jonah, and five pairs of rockets spat for the pods under the wings. When they struck the ground they were spaced about twenty meters apart, so the blast zones just overlapped, creating near perfect line of continues explosions. The rockets exploded with deadly force, shrapnel and fire destroyed the figures lurking behind the wall. Jonah flew through the dark smoke, leaving whirling vortices in the air.

Roaring over the wall, Jonah spun _Sunfire_ around; the sudden increase of gravitational forces briefly quadrupled his weight. Once the spun was completed, the pressure on his chest and thighs eased instantly. He surveyed the scene. His pass had blown the smoke away and he could see some _things_ moving around behind the wall. They roared back for another pass, this time the autocannons left a perfect marching line of destruction. Not much was left after his second pass, even the retaining wall was destroyed, gaping sections were set at regular intervals. Banking up and away they made a long half-orbit. Sun's head swung back and forth, Jonah keeping an eye on the auspex and an ear to the vox.

Captain Odavos was not impressed with Toolman's speed and in a series of four-letter insults and references to the infantry captain's mother he made his feelings known. Toolman's reply was equally unbecoming of an officer.

Over the intercom Sun said, "Nose is down to fifty percent."

"Yeah, I see that," Jonah said, tapping the ammo counter, "Slow down on the hosing. We'll need those rounds if these pukes take much longer."

"Longer? What are they doing, having a tea break?"

Jonah laughed, "Yeah, no doubt."

"It's getting heavy up here," Sun said seriously.

"Yeah," Jonah replied and looked at the city below them. Indeed it was getting heavy, every minute they were in the air more and more fire was being drawn towards them. Lasbolts and tracer rounds streaked the sky, the number of smoke tails generated by hand-held rocket launchers were increasing worryingly. It wouldn't be long before one of them took a hit. Slowly, but surely, the Foe was rallying. Their forces where mustering to expel the Imperial invaders.

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"Ugly Four," came a voice over the vox, "Driver Two. Fire support!"

"Give me coordinates, Driver Two," Sun replied calmly, as the Vulture banked right, angling for the units holding the northwest corner.

"Fire support! You need to take out that building!" Driver Two yelled. Jonah could picture in his mind the officer looking up at his craft and pointing at the building he wanted destroyed.

Sun said, "Coordinates, Driver Two, coordinates. I need you tell me what to shot at. At least describe your target."

The vox crackled, "Gray building, sixty meters in front of my position. Half the left side is gone."

Jonah and Sun scanned, all the buildings were gray and ruined. Jonah said, "Balor tell Driver Two, he's going to have to mark the target."

Sun relayed the message. They waited a few moments for a reply. "Watch for smoke," came over the vox.

Below a soldier hefted a grenade launcher and launched a projectile. It entered a building though a hole on the second floor. Within moments blue smoke was billowing through broken windows and missing walls.

"Got ya, Driver Two. Keep your head down."

Jonah came up fast and headed for the building, he could see pin-pricks of light and whipping lines of tracers. Most aimed for the soldiers on the ground, though some were aiming at him. He swung around, getting an angle of approach on the building. Jonah flared hard, stood off at six hundred meters and let loose with the autocannons.

Dozens of explosive rounds pummeled the building as he sweep the craft back and forth across the front face. He could not hear the destruction, but he could see it. The building was simply chewed apart in a hail of explosions and rock-dust. Not wanting to be an easy target, after a few seconds he powered forward and banked up left.

As _Sunfire_ thundered away, another line of explosions erupted over the building. Another Vulture had joined in, Ugly Six. The front half the craft was painted with a huge, snarling mouth – bright, white teeth to consume the enemies of Mankind. _Mauler's Mouth_. Between the two gunships, within moments whoever was in the building was dead. Both Vultures turned their guns on the buildings next the mauled one, and repeated the procedure.

"Whoa!" screamed Jonah suddenly and jerked back on the flight stick, bucking forward. Chaff, burning bright shot out of the craft's tail. A missile had passed within a meter of the cockpit. Sun's helmet snapped round following the smoke-tail back to its point of origin. A tongue of fire spat from the nose-bolter.

"You alright, Four?" voxed Ugly Six.

"Yeah, we're good, watch yourself Wind," he replied to the other pilot, and then signaled all six crafts of Ugly flock. "Uglys, heads up. The Scum have rocket-launchers. Extra caution advised. The Emperor Pro …"

At that moment he saw another flash point, watched the lazy smoke trail of the rocket lengthen quickly. Tracing its intended path with his eyes, he saw _Mauler's Mouth_ shoot out chaff. Only partially fooled by the burning chemicals that shot out the Vultures, the missile strike struck home on one of the tail-booms, bounded off, and exploded a dozen meters away.

"Six is hit. Ugly Six is hit! Northwest of Target Alpha. Five hundred meters and steady aloft," Jonah said into the vox with a calm he did not feel. He watched _Mauler's Mouth _get shoved hard, the aircraft swung around and bucked like an angry horse. Though the rough ride the nose-gun continued blasting away, the craft's gunner, Weaver, had kept his cool and his mind on his task. The craft was smoking and rattling violently as it banked up and away, seeming to recover.

After a few moments Captain Odavos dared to ask, "Six, what's your status?"

"Wait!" The pilot replied tensely, still fighting hard to get his craft under control.

The squadron vox was silent as all five of the other Vultures waited for Wind to update them. After a few moments, or an eternity, of silence, incoherent snarling could be heard. Wind replied calmly, "I think I'm alright. Lost some flight controls, the Mouth's shaking hard, but I think I'm alright."

By that time Jonah had circled around hard and lined up the building were the offending missile had come from. He sent a hail of half a dozen rockets. The building suffered his wrath and collapsed, a wave of dust and rockcrete spilling out.

Sun voxed the ground units, "How was that, Driver Two?"

"Majestic, Ugly Four, I'll keep your number handy."

"You do that," Sun replied and Jonah turned _Sunfire_ to get a better look at Ugly Six's damage.

While not much to look at, Vultures had enormous firepower and a reputation for durability. Mounting five weapons, four under the wings and a heavy bolter under the nose – slaved to the gunner's position.

Based on a Standard Template Construct the Vulture was designed to take a heavy licking and keep on kicking. All systems had a redundant back-up, and often those back-ups had back-ups. Vultures were designed for rugged, hard use and could operate without oil for an hour, fly without hydraulic fluid, the ailerons could be operated by hand toggles, and there were dozens clever life-saving systems. The craft even had two pilots, should the worst happen. They were also designed to protect the pilots during crashing landings. If the aircraft managed to land belly down the reinforced cockpit and impact resistant seats would absorb the brunt of the impact, many crash survivors got away with only broken legs or shattered vertebra rather than death.

"Wind, your left boom is heavily damaged," Jonah said over the private squadron channel. "You're leaking fluid and smoke. I don't know how it's still there. You should get back to base."

"I second Jonah, return to base Ugly Six," came Odavos's voice, his craft _Big One_, skimming along nearby.

"Copy that, returning to base," Wind said, and banked his craft away to make the hour flight back to their aviary at base Veritas.

"One, Four what's the hold up?" Jonah asked, watching the departing _Mauler's Mouth_ leak a thin line of smoke. He prayed to the God-Emperor that Wind and Weaver made it back. It would not be the first time a wounded craft attempted to return home only to develop catastrophic mechanical problems.

"I'm not sure. It seems there are Foe in the temple. Dios has to clear them out before he could secure the objective."

"Mission ETA?"

"Out the window, Jonah. Return to pattern Bravo Gladius, stay vigilant."

"Emperor's Light to you, sir."

"You too, Jonah."

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The minutes ticked by and the ground teams suffered ever increasing pressures and the causalities mounted. A dozen had been killed and twice that wounded. Some units began to lose effectiveness. The two platoons that secured the south and west approaches had to give ground and fall back to tighter positions. Normally, the well-armed Valkryries would assist in the patrolling the skies, their man-operated, door-mounted heavy bolters particularly useful in getting into tight spots, but Dios had ordered them to stand-off, not wanting to risk them being damaged or downed.

One hour and twenty-seven minutes into the mission the vox crackled, "All units, objective secured, began extractions routine."

Jonah smiled and made the sign of the Aquila. Sun do the same. They were both pleased that an object of one the Emperor's Saint was safe in their hands.

Extraction called for the gunship to make fast orbits, three in moving in each direction, to attack the perimeter as the infantry fell back into the temple grounds. The transports would land, everyone would load up, and then the Valkyries would be shepherded away by the protective Vultures.

Flying at three hundred kilometers per hour in loose formation, they thundered around the perimeter. Where they spotted or anticipated targets they'd slow down briefly and pounded the area with autocannons and rockets.

Extraction went well, considering the haphazard way the Stormtroopers reboarded their transports. A crooked-winged transport landed in the plaza in front of the temple, the only place large enough to fit a Valkyrie. The stormtroopers raced aboard, and the craft took off before the ramp was shut. Then another would repeat.

One Valkyrie was struck by a rocket and disabled. The blast also killed the pilot, though the navigator and the two door-gunners survived. The crew-chief used krak grenades to slag the craft into an unusable pile of melted metal, then joined the survivors aboard another craft. The conditions aboard the other five were tight and uncomfortable, particular with the dead and wounded. Sixteen Beligarso Stormtroopers were killed, and another thirty wounded. They did not leave anybody behind, not even the dead.

While the street-holding blocking units had a difficult time; the battle inside the temple had been desperately trying. In the ugly tight cross-fires and claustrophobic interiors of the temple complex Dios had lost half his team, including Major Sardak, the most loved officer in the air-assault regiment. Sardak died as he touched the very Cloth itself, a bullet destroyed his head. His blood soaked into the Cloth, adding to the revered artifact's sanguinary history. His cruel death whipped the snatch-team into a killing frenzy.

The recovery of the Cloth of Sebastian would become a piece of 75th's regimental legend, another honor marker on their proud battle standard – they would be become known informally as the _Regiment of the Cloth_.

::::

When they were fifty kilometers away from the Veritas, a flight of Thunderbolts joined them and escorted them the final leg. The comm crackled with excited chattered, rumors were there were medals, promotions, rewards waiting for them.

Colonel Dios cut into the vox-net, "I know you're all excited, but the next _son- of-a-whore_ who talks over the vox without authorization answers to me." The unprofessional chatter halted swiftly.

Once over Veritas Jonah and Sun circled over their allotted aviary, glad to see a dark green Vulture parked there. _Mauler's Mouth_ had made it back, after all. That was reward enough for them. _Sunfire_ set down beside the other crafts of Ugly flock.

Jonah and Sun ran through the rituals of deactivation and the thanking of the machine spirit that lived in the aircraft. The canopy popped open with a hiss and Jonah slipped his off helmet, feeling the warm, wet air against his face. The smells of hot metal, promethium fumes, and bolter cordite struck him hard. Jonah let out a long sigh and Sun's hard face looked back, he half-smiled and nodded. Jonah returned the smile back and said, "Emperor bless, Balor."

Vulture groundcrew trotted out to them, access ladders clanked up against the cockpits.

Sun aquilaed himself and climbed out. Jonah kissed his fingertip and pressed them to the small double-headed eagle set in the instrument panel, and climbed out.

Once on the ground they looked at each other and shook hands. Balor Sun was a tall, wide-shouldered man with a noble face and shaved head. Ignis Jonah was handsome, short and compactly built, with a beaky nose and dark, thick hair.

As they patted the shoulders of the gunship groundcrew, and complimented them on a fine job, they all heard a great cheer and looked across the tarmac, seeing the Valkyries mobbed by base staff, ground crew, and Beligarso soldiers. An elderly man in priestly robes walked off craft, holding the Cloth high. The crowd roared with excitement. Overcome with a religious fever, they screamed and danced and prayed to the heavens.

Sun squinted and said, "Does this mean the Seventy-Fifth gets the credit again?"

Jonah looked up at the taller man, "Don't they always just."


	3. Persona Non Grata

**Chapter II**

**Persona Non Grata**

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"_True-and-Through_"  
-Unofficial motto of the Beligarso 99th Aviation Regiment

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It was a fine morning and airbase Vertias roared with the comings and goings of aircraft, beeping of sentinel lifters, and rumble of hundreds of Guardsmen working at pace. On one small corner of the airbase, six Vulture gunships sat unmoving; canopies up, access panels open.

On each were aviators with mops and buckets of foamy water. Normally the task of cleaning fell to the groundcrew, but as Ugly Squadron was on a down-week for maintenance, Odavos had sent them away and gave them the morning off. Not the sort to lay about, the groundcrew industriously leant their skills to other squadrons on-duty. All twelve of airman worked the six craft over, cleaning and touching up the matte, non-reflective paint.

Jonah and Sun wore only their Guard issued undershorts and their boots. The hot equatorial sun of Morgan's World burned their backs, but they did not mind. The sun's warmth felt good after many months onboard a vast transport starship. Ignis Jonah had a number of small, meaningful tattoos on each shoulder. On one were the names of his three sisters; _Celestia_, _Astoria_, and _Constellia_, the other had the words, _Equa Torros. _His co-pilot/gunner Balor Sun, was a tall man with broad shouldered and thin but powerful muscles. He had large hands with thick fingers, his body was decorated with several dozen tattoos, with more then half-a-dozen on each arm, mostly raptor-birds and faith-quotes. On his upper back he had two large black bird's wings.

The dark green of _Sunfire's _metal hide was being scrubbed clean. Forged on Mars and transported to Beligarso thirty years before, _Sunfire_ was particular craft. The Mars Mk. IX version had an interesting origin. Due to an accounting error it was the only Marian craft in the fleet, all the other were crafted by Phaeton forges, the tried and tested version Mk. V.

Imperial law and traditions dictated that any atmospheric craft normally operated under the authority of the Imperial Navy. However, the Regiment's various aircraft; Vulture, Valkyrie, Aquila, and Arvus, were under the command of Imperial Guard Air Colonel Sergi Zelekin who answered directly to Guard General Carinonova Draco III, Kyrios of Fornix and Protector of Beligarso, the master and commander of the campaign to liberate Morgan's World.

The aircraft were brought together thirty years previous; during the Reclaiming of Betelgeuse under special commission from the sector lord general. Not uniquely, but certainly rarely, Beligarso was allowed to form a flyer-based Guard regiment to assist their famous air-assault infantry - the Vultures were the clenched fist of the newly founded Imperial Guard Beligarso 99th Aviation Regiment.

Originally, most of the first members were of reassigned Navy stock and on scroll, the regiment looked like an unholy amalgamation of Guard and Navy terms, ranks, traditions, and organizational structure.

Jonah had always thought of _Sunfire's_ machine-spirit as something of a fussy gentleman - needy and demanding. However, after he served a deployment with a regiment of Attilan Rough Riders he revised his opinion. As he stood and watched those brutal warriors practice and seeing their proud, fearsome mounts, Jonah saw _Sunfire_ for what he really was; a thoroughbred warhorse - strong, proud, and finicky. As such, he liked to be well groomed. They mopped and cleaned and painted regularly.

Aside for looking good, the Vultures of Ugly squadron, like all the aircraft of the 99th, needed constant maintenance attention. Due to the complicated nature of the aircraft the regiment had a far greater number of Mechanicus tech-priests then other regiments, even more than most armored units. Enginseer Iso and his six juniors and their dozen servitors were assigned to Ugly Squadron. The Martian priesthood oversaw the rituals and litanies of restoration and repair. Their rust colored robes were often seen flitting about. The machine-men paid particular attention to the Marian born gunship, holding the aircraft in special regard, much to Jonah's secret delight. _Sunfire_ ran better than any other craft in the regiment.

"Oy! Pukes!" called a loud voice - '_pukes_' being the traditional regimental word of choice for insult, exclaim, or affection; sometimes all three simultaneously.

Jonah stopped mopping, wiped his forehead and looked around. Below him was his commander. Flem Odavos stood with his hands on his hips, feet wide apart, as if daring someone to try and push him over. The commander sharply pulled off his aviator issue glare-shades and asked, "Why aren't you wearing are your regs?"

"It's a bit hot for coveralls," Jonah called back.

"Get some damned shirts on, you idiots. I don't want to hear you whining about sunburns when you've being sitting in your 'pit for five hours."

"Yes, sir," both men chorused.

"Company briefing in forty-five, Jonah you're with me. Oh, and I want you fully dressed, and not looking like a gladiator's tarts. I wouldn't be embarrassed by you."

::::

The regiment's headquarters unit and flight-control teams had taken over an abandoned temple complex and from there directed the regiment's contributions to the liberation. Briefings were held several times daily, there, squadrons were given assignments and duty stations. Any units not on task were expected to attend.

In a small, sunny courtyard the soldiers sat in the pews or lingered by the blown out windows. Representatives from a dozen squadrons were present, twenty people all told. They chatted, joked and mocked one another, waiting for the briefing to start. Inter-unit rivalry was friendly, but taken very seriously and any chance to embarrass or show-up another unit was seized.

"Attention on deck!" a sharp voice rang out. The pilots stopped chatting immediately and snapped to attention. Air Colonel Sergi Zelekin strode in the temple courtyard like a heavy storm cloud. A pack of retainers, advisers, and hangers-ons followed closely behind.

"Right. Let's make this quick, I've a meeting with the General in twenty."

He marched to the front of the courtyard, climbed up a few steps on the landing that led into the sunken courtyard. He took a long moment to look over the assembled guardsmen, while he removed his white leather gloves finger-by-finger. He liked what he saw, all tough, professional men and women. Hardened aviators with nerves of steel, hides like leather and every one of them had a belly-full of Beligarso grit.

"Bow your heads," he growled. Waiting for a moment, he coughed loudly then said, "Oh, glorious God-Emperor of Mankind, protect us, your humble servants, and guide us so that we may do your will. The Emperor Protects."

"The Emperor protects," intoned the soldiers in unison.

He nodded, then snapped his fingers at one of his advisers. The man quickly passed him a data-slate. Zelekin rumbled, "Squadrons … Menace, Viper and Ugly … with Valk companies Beta, Gamma, and Echo … you're being shifted to provide air support for the Cex assault on Topper Ridge. Plot points Rico-17 by Tango-979."

Jonah quickly jotted down notes on his memo-pad.

"You're answering to a … Major Sabrese. He's got two thousand troopers and has been orders to complete his objectives in a weeks' time. They are as follows; move out of the secured town of Melmo, clear the jungle to the ridge line all the way down to River Emsis, and finally secure the highground on the northside. He'll be needing lots of air support on this one. Gunships with be running hot for some time to come. Get your squadron tech-priests to give your rides an extra going over."

The Air Colonel looked over his slate one last time, then announced, "That'll be all. Any questions?"

Odavos coughed and asked, "Will there be any Air Control craft?"

"Negative," Zelekin said. "It's a secondary grade operation. No ACCs will be necessary."

Odavos nodded in understanding. With that Zelekin turned and walked out of the courtyard. The guardsmen snapped to attention and most senior airman for each squadron threw a salute.

Once Zelekin had left, Jonah turned his captain and said, "Six squadrons a secondary affair?" Odavos gave a quick good-humored laugh.

Jonah shook his head, put on his aviators, and said, "Unbelievable."

::::

In the ready room at Veritas, Odavos called Ugly together for a pre-flight brief. The squadron numbered six crafts and a dozen operators. Squadron commander and head of first-flight was Flam Odavos and his gunner, Macer Zaher – they flew in _Big One_. Noel Kimble and Bak Parrish flew in _Tusker_. Having graduated for the famous all-women's pilot school Brunhilde's Hope, the squadron's two female aviators were pilot Lydia Pegoud and gunner Katya Madon, in a craft name after the their alma mater, _Red Star_. In charge of the second-flight of three Vultures, Jonah and Sun flew in _Sunfire_. Dezbet Melville and Silvio Caldwell crewed _Thor's Faith_, and finally Hans Wind and his gunner Cvitan Weaver were in _Mauler's Mouth_.

All wore dark green coveralls, with their trouser legs tucked into and puffing out of their black boots, and black aviator survival vests. They held their individually decorated helmets under their elbows.

Odavos looked them over and said, "Alright my ugly babies. We won't be doing a lot of escort runs, but there'll be plenty of hot-work to be done. Ground assault will be highest priority. No grox-shit, please. Jonah I'm looking in your direction. Let's do this operation right, and by the numbers. In a week or two, Emperor willing, we'll all be back here safe and sound."

::::

Directly below them was the coastline, a tiny strip of brown with blue ocean on one side and green jungle on the other. Bumping along Ugly squadron cruised at three thousand meters , traveling west with the two other squadrons, a flock of eighteen deadly Vultures. Along with the gunships, were three dozen Valkyries, the elements support companies. They carried the support crews of the gunship squadrons; the tech-priests and their minions, ground crew and air control officers, vox-operators, and dozens of other specialist staff. They also carried hundreds of rockets and missiles and tens of thousands of autocannon and heavy bolter rounds. They were packed tight with replacement parts for every single sprocket, cog, hinge, dial, pump, and hundreds of other aircraft parts. After the transports unloading the men and supplies, they would arm-up and serve as rapid transport for the Cex soldiers.

Ugly flew in a loose tactical formation, each craft given a quadrant to stay relative to his wingman. slightly to the left and above the craft in front of it. Odavos rode at the head and Jonah at the rear, the rest of Ugly sandwiched between them. The other two squadrons flew alongside the transports.

"Take the stick for me," Jonah said to Sun over the intercom.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah. I just need to piss."

Sun toggled a switch and piloting controls moved to his station. The Vulture shook slightly as he took control and found his position within the flight systems. Jonah rummaged through his side-seat pockets and pulled out a plastic bottle. He relieved himself with a sigh and tucked the bottle away. He told himself to remember to empty it once they landed.

"I'm taking control back," he said and toggled flight back to himself.

After aligning a few controls, he asked Sun, "You hear that?"

"Yeah, that bumping sound."

"Run a diagnostic check."

Sun flipped controls and noted dials, "Already have, everything checks out."

"Make a note of it in the log. We'll have Iso check it out when we land."

"Noted," Sun said, "So did Zelekin ask after me?"

Jonah could not help himself but laugh. Years, Sun had been asking that question for years. And it always brightened Jonah's day.

"Balor, you meat-head, leave ol' Sergi alone. He's a busy man, you know. Meeting the General and all that." He looked out the window and thought about how Sun had come into his life.

::::

The Beligarso regiments were in space-transit, conducting a tour of the rimward worlds of the Reap World subsector, when a much younger Ignis Jonah was promoted to command his own craft. How he came to have Balor Sun as his second was something of a designed accident.

Commissar Cave, the regiment's quirky commissar with the heart of a priest, surprised (and terrified) Jonah with a sudden appearance at his quarters only days after he had been promoted to full pilot. The man had a help-you-by-making-you-help-yourself approach to conducting his duties. Not that he was afraid to give out a verbal and non-verbal punishments if needs demanded. But the commissar understood the unique traits and talents of the aviators; he believed they were the Imperium's unsung elite.

The commissar spent an hour talking mysteriously to the nervous young lieutenant, when he suddenly passed him a data-slate. The details of a soldier currently listed as -disabled- were there. Balor Sun had been a heavy bolter operator with the Beligarso 75th. Jonah was impressed by the veteran's record. There were regular citations for marksmanship and bravery under fire, for which he was promoted to sergeant. Like most members of the Air-Assault regiment he had been a hard man with a no-nonsense, task-orientated mind. Not long after his promotion he received severe back injuries and lost a foot in an explosion while defending his platoon's position. Being unable to do his duties he was discharged from the elite regiment, sent back to regular Beligarso infantry reserves. He was a proud man by nature and the demotion from elite soldier to common grunt replacement was spirit crushing. It was a painful time for him and he lost himself to drink.

"What's this for," Jonah asked after reading it.

The Commissar just smiled and said, "Meet the man."

Jonah did, and the two got on like a house on fire. Though Sun was a good ten years older than Jonah, it was as if they had always known each other. Both Beligarso boys at heart, Jonah was from the great sky-city Haven, and Sun from the small town of Dice, outside of the great ground-based metropolis of Humicole. Jonah supported Haven's crushball team, the Hammers, while Sun supported their archrivals the Humicole Titans. The Titans had won the grand tournament last year and the insults and mockery flew fast and hard between them. Both were quietly religious men; faithful attendants and keen observers of the Cult of the Emperor. They were both proud members of Imperial Guard. Both sons of fathers who had served and died on distance, alien worlds.

After a few drinks, Jonah took him to see _Sunfire_. Of course Sun had seen Vultures before, many times, but he had never had the chance to be so near one, nor actually get to sit in one. Things got difficult when Sun tried to climb into the lower cockpit. The man was nearly a foot taller than Jonah and had the shoulders and arms you'd expect a heavy weapons operator to have - thick, powerful. The drink and lack of regular exercise had expanded his waistline as well.

However tight the fit, Sun enjoyed himself. He admired the craft and said so. For a thrill Jonah ignited the battery and activated the nose-gun. Sun put on a helmet and played with the weapon, making it follow his head's movements. The two laughed at jokes silly and crude.

After that they talked until the overhead decklight turned off. Sitting atop of _Sunfire_, sharing a bottle of vrackie by torchlight Jonah told him how Cave had sent him to find him. They talked it over, but couldn't figure out why the Commissar had done that.

They bade each other a good night and with their regiments billeted on opposite sides of the starcraft they went their separate ways.

The following day-cycle Cave returned to Jonah's small quarters, and the much hungover pilot was in a bad way. Bizarrely, the commissar cooked them a breakfast of fried Slab and recaff, chatting lightly all the while. As they ate he asked Jonah what he thought of Sun.

"A good man, true-and-through to the bone," Jonah said.

"You think he could make it as a Vulture-jock?" Cave asked, cutting to the point.

Jonah finally understood what the Commissar was getting at. Jonah thought he could see the Commissar's game but he didn't want to take him as his gunner out of pity, or fear of Cave. He bravely said so.

"Sir, I don't think it's appropriate for me to make that call. I'm not the Munitorium selection committee and your undeniable authority aside, neither are you. The man's a hoofer, not a pilot and never will be."

Cave nodded slightly, as if waiting for Jonah to finish talking, "Would you sponsor him?"

"Sponsor him?"

"Into the air-training corp."

Jonah looked confused, "I didn't realized we still do that." Sponsoring was an old-fashioned policy that allowed officers to nominate personnel who they thought may be capable enough to make it as aviator. The tradition had faded with the establishment of flight-schools. It hadn't been done in over a decade.

"Oh yes, that bylaw is well and truly valid."

"The man's got a wooden block for a foot."

Cave simply stared at him, waiting.

"Ok yes, I'll sponsor him."

The commissar nodded, stood up, put his cap on and left with saying a word. Cave seemed pleased.

Air Colonel Zelekin was not.

After Jonah presented his sponsorship certificate he was called into Zelekin's office. The Air Colonel was not pleased to have a dirty-boot wearing, ground-pounding, no-necked grunt in one of his beloved birds, or even in one of his training teams. More importantly, there were only a few dozen places of in the training scholem, and Sun would take the place of a more respectable candidates. Jonah was simply being onerous, Zelekin claimed. He received a fearsome dressing-down, and a mark on his permanent record for insubordination. Whist the commanding officer harangued the young pilot, Commissar Cave entered the room and took the Air Colonel into another office where the two had a private, closed-door, conversation.

After that, Jonah's sponsorship was approved.

During space-transit Sun had eight hard months of grueling, relentless training. He was a natural with the big nose-gun, however, he had no experience at piloting. During the mornings he would pour over slates and scrolls, vector charts and attack tables, and then he'd spend hour after hour in simulators during the afternoons. Jonah would sit with him well into the night, tutoring him. Every other day they would head to the Eyries – the practice bay where they would fly a trainer-Vulture. It was a huge corridor nearly two kilometers long and eight hundred meters high.

Balor Sun's training also involved learning to move around on his new bionic foot, another gift from the mysterious Cave. On top of the already tightly packed schedule, during those months he managed to lose one-fifth of his body mass, though he could never decrease the width of this board shoulders. He would sit, hunched and gargoyle-like in the cockpit operating the controls delicately with his big hands.

Much to Zelekin's undisguised disgust Sun graduated with top-marks in marksmanship, earning himself the much-lauded Gunner's Cross, and came a respectable seventh out of twenty-nine in flightmanship.

::::

Landing at Melmo was uneventful. The gunships sped ahead of the transports and did the obligatory two passes. The airfield had been secured by Cex ground forces a week before. They had built a well defended perimeter of bunkers and tarantula turrets which ran around the town's large central park, the Grand Green. The crafts sat down on the expansive lawn, the grounds were overgrown with weeds and colorful wild flowers.

The transports disgorged their contents and within a few hours the control tower, vox-boosters, signal array, comms-relay and other adjoining facilities were in place. Within a day flight controllers directed the coming and going of aircraft.

The combat aviators were invited to stay at an expensive hotel that overlooked the lawn's private gardens. At first they were gleeful at having actual beds; they soon discovered that sorry state of the luxury hotel.

The windows had been blown out or broken and the regular rain storms had saturated most of the rooms. The topical temperature was not kind to the linen and mold and rot had set in quickly when the place was abandoned. A pilot from Menace Squadron suggested misogynisticly that Pegoud and Madon fix up the rooms for them.

The two women had to be held back from breaking more than just the pilot's nose.

Sun rushed in and attempted to keep the feuding pairs apart, the scuffle resulted in chairs being broken and knuckles bloodied.

Odavos was less than impressed.

Everyone involved had the brawl noted on their permanent record, and were to report to Commissar Cave when they were next reunited with rest of the regiment. As further punishment, they were given the grim task of hauling out moldy, stinking mattresses and making the hotel livable.

::::

While Sun, Pegoud, Madon, and the two crews of Menace attempted to make the hotel hospitable for human life, Jonah went with Odavos and the other squadron leaders to meet the Cex Major.

The Major looked like all his people; dark-skinned, dark-eyed, short and squat, with a powerful if awkward gait. He kept his head shaved, a tradition with all Cex soldiers. His face was serious, as was his demeanor. The Beligarso men, known to be wild and passionate people prone to singing and dancing unexpectedly, kept themselves on a tight leash, observing all formal protocol. Reputation meant a lot to Zelekin, and the in past he had stripped unruly and embarrassing officers of their ranks and flight privileges when he'd heard they acted up in front of other senior Guard officers.

"I'm glad you've arrived," the Cex major said, "We've got some serious work ahead of us. I'm Sabrese."

"Odavos," the Ugly Captain replied, then introduced the others, "Secundo, Hoptti, Lucco, Cione, Glass and Jonah. What are your priorities and disposition, sir?" Odavos asked.

"Well met. I want to get my forward units onto the ridge as soon as possible. When can your Valkyries be ready to go?"

Lucco, the captain of Echo Company, said, "We can be ready to fly in three, maybe four, hours. We're still unloading and getting the flight-court set-up."

"That'll put us at sun-down."

"Not a problem with us. We're all night-flight trained and experienced."

"Good, then we'll get some scouts on the ridge tonight then move the rest of the battalions out at first-light."

The officers nodded in agreement.

"Captain, a quick question," Jonah asked Odavos. He commander looked at him quizzically, but nodded to the Cex major.

"Ask," Sabrese said.

"Your troops have any training with Valkyries?"

"No."

"No training at all? None? Has anyone even been in a bird before?"

"I have. My senior staff as well. The common trooper … I would not think so."

"Ah, I see," Jonah said, looking at the other officers. A few made thoughtful faces.

Sabrese caught the look and asked, "Is that a problem?"

"Not for us," snorted Jonah.

"What the lieutenant meant was," interrupted Odavos, giving Jonah a harsh look, "It's harder than you might think too fast-rope out of an aircraft hovering at thirty meters. More if the vegetation doesn't allow for them to get that low."

"Fast-rope? Would you not just land and deploy?"

"Sir, the ridge is thick, triple-layer jungle. No bird is going to land anywhere. You're soldiers will have to deploy via ropes. They'll have to slide down thirty or more meters, potentially under attack."

The Cex Major sucked his teeth, "Blast and Hellfire!" he roared. After a moment he asked, "Suggestions?"

The Beligarso men huddled together. They all started talking at once, rapid-fire. Secundo, leader of the Viper gunships, waved his hands, "Hush! Lucco you go."

"It'll be hellish if they go in without any time on the ropes. I say, we set-up a quick crash course. Find a building, get a few ropes mounted up high and push a few Cex'ers off. See how they fair. It's only a few hundred of them, shouldn't take long to show them the basics of safe-exitin'," Lucco said.

"We have any rope-tac qualified trainers? I'd hate for the likes of Jonah to have to show the poor bastards how it's done. That has all the making of H-I-A syndrome," Odavos put in.

It was a common fear amongst the Air-Assault troopers that if they exited to soon after the soldier in front of them, they would end up crashing into them, while comical, it was also potential fatal. They had come up with all sorts of clever, quasi-medical related jargon to explain the results there of - 'H-I-A' stood for _Head-In-Ass_.

"Sun could do it," Jonah said.

"Yeah, yeah he could! He's had his hands burned more times than Flem's had his member," Hoptti threw out.

"Hardly!" Odavos huffed, "the man would've had to have lived three lifetimes."

Scoffing, Secundo said, "Jonah, run back and find Sun. There was an Administratum building on the western end of the lawns. A big 'un, ten stories at least. Get him there, and anything he might need. Get Iso there too. Cione get back to compound, get as many ropes as you find and whoever can help out. Crew chiefs, door gunners, whomever got experience with ropes, get them to the building."

"Sounds like we've a plan," Glass said and clapped. He turned to Major Sabrese who was looking baffled at the speed of the conversation the Beligarso men were having, "Major. We've got something for you."

::::

When Jonah found Sun he was struggling with Pegoud to navigate a sodden, stinking mattress out of a doorway, "Balor! Put that down and come with me."

"Ignis, go away, we're busy," Pegoud's muffled voice came from behind the wall.

"Nothing doing, Lydia. Balor's got to come with me."

"Whatever!" she complained as the mattress slapped to the ground.

Sun's face was covered in mold spores and his eyes were scarlet red and inflamed and highly irritated. Tears ran down his cheeks, snort dribbled out of his nose. Pegoud was having just as bad a reaction to the spore.

"Eeh gads, Lydia. Your face is melting."

"I know," she said, wiping her face on her sleeve, "What do you want?"

"Come on, Balor, I'll explain on the way."

Pegoud shouted at them as they walked away, "I hope you puke and die, Ignis!

::::

The Beligarso men found the Adminstratum building. It was whitewashed stone, crafted in the tradition Imperial style. Heavy, permanent, unyielding. The roof had a large overhang which served their purpose well. Iso had anchored six ropes to the front face of the building and a few dozen Cex soldiers waited around, looking dubiously over the edge. Being from the cramped, borrow-like orbital mining colonies around the moons of Cex, they were not accustomed to such heights.

Sun and a few crew chiefs from Gamma Company had only a few hours to teach them the basics of rope-technique. Though Sun treated them like the elite troops they were, which they appreciated, he worked them raw. Soon more and more Cex soldier's arrived. Iso installed more ropes. Training and practice runs lasted well into the night.

In the days to come, lives would be saved because of the intensive, if short, practice drops and the demanding Beligarso trainers.


	4. Vultures that Hover, Biding their Time

**Chapter III**

**Vultures That Hover, Biding Their Time**

::::

"_You know why the front hangs so low? Well, there're actually three seats up front. Yeah three, I'm serious. One for pilot, one for the gunner, and the third, well, the third is for our testicles. The Cog-heads understood that you had to have a big pair to fly a Vulture, boy, so they built in an extra seat. All the extra weight from our over-sized family jewels pulls down the superstructure, making the cockpits hang low, low and heavy."  
_- Lieutenant I.A. Jonah explaining the unique shape of a Vulture gunship

::::

The morning sun was bright. The sky was blue with a few clouds on the horizon; visibility, twenty-five kilometers, wind speed three kilometers southwest. Fleet aerographers predicted a likelihood of heavy rain showers in the late afternoon. The morning haze was lifting quickly. The jungle was a thousand shades of green and dark.

During the previous night twenty-five teams of ten were scattered over an area of twenty kilometers. The Cexs had roped in without much trouble for the most part. Two troopers fell; both sustained major spine and neck injuries are were immediately extracted via lifter pads.

The recon troops spent the dark hours of night stalking the jungle. They were commanded to move towards the river, mark enemy positions, and attack targets of opportunity. Reports of gun battles had been coming in all night. Sabrese left three companies as reserves and town security in Melmo and at first light, he ordered the bulk of his troopers to advance up the ridge. They were going to walk the thirty-three kilometers over the Topper Ridge and down the next six to the River Emsis.

The squadrons of the 99th used Melmo's Grand Green Park as their base of operations. Being able to cover the distance to the ridge and back in a matter of minutes, they were kept busy, especially the Vultures. Their fire power was instrumental in clearing out dug-in enemy soldiers, destroying gun-nests, and vaporizing hardened bunkers. Even the Valkyries were pulling attack craft duty, when not being used as evacuation or surgical insertion craft.

When the Cex soldiers voxed contact, two pairs of Vultures would immediately rush to the scene. In heavy cover like the Topper Ridge the Vultures often had trouble spotting the enemy. They devised a tactic which the infantry commander would launch smoke grenades into the enemies location and the Vultures would swoop in and obliterate the area, and hopefully the enemy. It was slow, grueling work, often times the enemy was right on top of the ground forces, mere meters away. Those attack runs required incredible skill on the parts of the aviators and complete trust and utter fearlessness on the part of the allied infantry.

By midmorning of the first day the vanguard of the ground forces had covered nearly ten kilometers.

Jonah and Sun patroled over a low-land of marshy wetlands. The recently repaired _Mauler's Mouth_ their wingmen. Two minutes east was _Tusker_ and _Red Star_, two minutes further _Big One_ and _Thor's Hammer_. Below were four hundred Cex soldiers, wading through the knee-deep bogs. Also nearby were four Valkyries of Echo Company. The armed transports stayed at three hundred meters, ready to provide cover at a moment notice.

"Poor bastards …" muttered Jonah.

"Yeah," Sun said over the intercom. "You know. I sort 'o miss it. Last night, training-up their recon teams made me forget how much I miss the slog and stink of honest infantry work."

"You're kidding me right?"

"Nope. Once you've tasted the copper adrenaline of straight up combat, you'll never be the same."

"Uh huh," Jonah replied.

Suddenly, the craft's vox sounded, "Contact! Air cover!"

Jonah looked right and left, he did not see any signs of weapon flashes. "There, over that dike," Sun said. A Valkyrie had already spotted the figures and skimmed quickly over. Jonah powered over and came up behind the transport, ready to provide support if needed. _Mauler's Mouth_ circled two hundred meters above them.

Below the Echo bird were four men standing waist deep in a small, shallow pool of water, their hands held above their heads. They were un-armed and naked to the waist, bodies covered completely in mud. They waved their arms wildly at the bird.

Jonah watched the Valkyrie hover sideways to the four people.

"What is he doing?" asked Sun.

"I don't know … what _is_ he doing?" he replied over the intercom, then switched channels, "Echo Ten, Ugly Four, what are you doing?"

"Busy now, Ugly Four," came a curt reply.

"Ten, those look like hostiles to me. Why aren't you shooting them?"

"Your observation is duly noted, Ugly Four. Also noted is the fact you're one hundred meters away. I think they're survivors."

"There're no survivors here, they are Foe, kill them," Jonah said.

He watched the Echo bird drift closer to the four people in the water. They were shouting up frantically at the Echo Ten. Jonah dropped twenty-five meters and pulled forward fifty, to get his sightline below the Valkyrie and get a better view.

He saw it all happen.

The port door-gunner waved to the men, indicating they should get out of the water. He waved twice more. Then the four men reached into the water and pulled out weapons. They unloaded dozens and dozens of hard rounds at the Echo Ten. Jonah saw the door-gunner get hit, crumple and tumble into the craft. He saw bullets spank off the cockpit, the wing, the aircraft's undercarriage. The pilot of the Echo bird took evasive action. He pulled hard on the throttle and pounded the vector pedals, the craft bucked forwards and banked a hard up-right. Bullets chased the wounded bird.

Sun took a second to line up the men, and disintegrated them with the heavy bolter.

The Echo bird peeled away, heading back to Melmo with its critically gut-wounded gunner. Nearby two teams of Cex soldiers called for air support simultaneously, Jonah powered forward towards the flash of lasrifles; circling atop of the friendly units, Sun, used the nose-bolter freely. Following Sun's bolter fireline _Mauler's Mouth_, roared down from above, unloading with a wave of rockets and autocannon fire at the tree line. A few moments later, two more Vultures swept in from the east, blazing hot at four hundred kilometers per hour. Two hundred meters of forest was ablaze after they swept pass.

Undeterred the by the blazing jungle, enemy soldiers rushed out, screaming profane names. The Cexs threw themselves into whatever cover they could find and replied with shouts of faith and a hail of lasfire.

Suddenly, this section of the advance was turned into a major fire-fight.

Jonah calmly used the thumb-selector and selected Odavos's personal frequency. "Captain, Captain, Jonah here."

"Be quick, Ignis, a little busy here."

"Flem, we've got a major engagement here. Foe estimated two hundred plus. It's about to get ugly, and not in a good way."

"Understood. Maximum aggression. Those boys on the ground are your responsibility, don't let them down. I'll see about get the reserve flight in the air. Or some fast-attack aircraft."

"Maximum aggression, understood. Emperor be with you, boss." Jonah switched back to the squadron's vox-net and said, "All Uglys attack pattern Fox-Lux, repeat Fox-Lux."

The Vultures quickly moved off, circling back parallel to the enemy advance. They blazed in, two from each direction, all weapons firing in defense of the troopers on the ground. The gunners, using their nose-bolters fired on anything that moved. Sun sighted a cluster of enemy soldiers weathering a storm of Cex lasfire. He lined them up in his helmet-targeter. One squeeze of the trigger and the Foe were dismembered. Sun watched one enemy, miraculous unharmed, stand up and shake his fist angrily at him. Sun's rejoinder was a light squeeze of the trigger, six heavy bolter rounds later he was nothing more than a pile of bloody rags and meat-parts.

The pilots used the bigger armaments to blow apart trees, dikes, any sort of cover. _Red Star,_ had exchanged her rocket-pods for an extra set of autocannons, and she was terrifying to behold. The four cannons roared and the high-velocity, high-explosive shells destroyed plant, earth, and enemies with equal measure. The three remaining Valkyries moved in to provide cover fire, the door-mounted heavy bolters spitting fire almost straight down.

::::

The cultists and traitor soldiers could do little to the roaring, fire-breathing birds, but with Blood God's hate simmering in their veins they would not go without a fight. They swarmed forward, eager to get to grips with the dark-skinned Cex soldiers. The only place they were safe from the dreaded sky-born terrors was right in the midst of their ground-bound allies.

The Cex commander of Opel Company and forty of his men had claimed a small hill for themselves using it as a rally point for the rest of their men. With the help of Ugly squadron they had fought off two large waves of Foe. As the Vultures moved away to support other units, the Foe reared up and raced for the hill, drawn to the aquamarine flag held by the commander. Their numbers were far greater than the mere two hundred Jonah estimated and they breached the hastily erected defenses quickly enough, and slaughtered the Imperials. The bloodletting was horrendous.

Khrone would be pleased.

One Foe had hacked the head off an Imperial soldier and was skinning the flesh off its skull when his blood soaked hands dropped his skinning knife. When he reached down to retrieve it he saw something he knew. He reached down, the knife forgotten, and pulled up an Imperial Mk. III Man-Portable Missile Launcher.

Turning it over in his hands, the Foe knew this weapon.

Fragmented memories from his previous life as a slave-soldier to a dead god on a dull throne flashed in his mind. His brain boiled with Khorne's bloodlust, he grinned with broken and blacked teeth. The mud-covered Foe scuttled forwards, dropped to a knee, raised the weapon to his shoulder. He sighted along the targeter, lining up a dark green death-bird circling overhead.

The targeter's reticule flashed red, the holy color to his blood-thirsty god, and he pulled the trigger. Smoke blew from the rear of the launcher and the missile flew into the sky. The death-bird was banking, and suddenly spat a shower of ineffective chaff, and the missile hit the bird in the belly. A great explosion rocked the craft, wreathing it in smoke and fire.

The Foe shook the launcher to the sky and yelled in victory.

::::

"Echo Nine is hit!" came a sharp cry over the vox. Jonah's head jerked around, seeing the Valkyrie covered in smoke and fire. The aircraft bucked and powered though the smoke and flame, determined to get away.

"Where's the shooter?" called Wind.

"Smoke trail leading to the hill at my three o'clock," replied _Tusker's_ pilot, Kimble, "Engaging."

"There in ten seconds," Jonah said as he banked hard left, lining up the hill. Kimble was already covering the hill in explosive shells. Jonah joined him, attacking the hill from a different angle. A few seconds later Pegoud and her four autocannons all but flattened the hill.

Echo Nine was trailing smoke but was not losing attitude. The wounded aircraft voxed out on the regular and emergency frequencies, "Echo Nine, Echo Nine, Echo Nine. Echo Nine is a Valkyrie, with four persons on board, suffered an unknown number of malfunctions. Including number one engine failure and is returning to Melmo. Requesting escort." The crew and craft were lucky they had been hit with a fragmentation missile and not an armor piecing krak missile.

"Uglys, continue to persecute the enemy, I'll look after Echo Nine," Jonah replied and banked off to follow the smoking craft.

::::

The damage done to the craft was greater than either pilot knew. They had covered about five kilometers when the aircraft suffered complete engine failure. Shrapnel from the missile had punctured engine one's intake valve, causing it to overheat. The pilot wisely shut it down. Engine two had suffered as well. Two had been peppered by missile parts, one severing the hydraulic dampeners. Hydraulic fluid leaked into the pump assembly and from there, through another hole caused by the shrapnel, onto a shattered electronic switcher relay, shorting it out. With one engine off-line and the other simply stopped working, Echo Nine fell out of the air.

The pilot's straining voice came over the vox, "Echo Nine is going down, repeat, Echo Nine is going down. E-sig activated. Echo Nine is …" the transmission was cut off as Valkryrie crashed heavily into the jungle below.

Watching it happen, Jonah calmly sent out a distress call, "Air Command and Control, Ugly Four requesting emergency evac-bird for a crashed Echo Nine. Reported four persons onboard. Coordinates as follows six-four-seven-four-two-one-one."

A flight-controller had been paying close attention to their situation replied quickly, "Ugly Four, Evac en-route. Put into protective orbit. Standby for further."

::::

They had been circling the crash for nearly twenty minutes. There was no sign of any Valkyries coming to the scene. They saw one person moving around down below. The figure paused and waved an arm at them. Jonah tried the vox again.

"Come in Air Control, Air Control come in," Jonah said, "any word on that rescue craft for Echo Nine?"

There was a long buzzing pause, "Ugly Four, craft inbound, stay on station."

"ETA, Air Control?"

Again a long pause, "Unknown, Ugly Four. Craft status is inboard. Stay on station until contact has been made."

"Copy, Control," Jonah said, switching the vox to receive only he muttered to the world around him, "Come on you Puke-faces, where are you?"

"No go?" asked Sun, he had been talking with Odavos and missed the status update.

"Negative details. Any luck with vox?"

"No, I bet the equipment is smashed. Ignis there is definitely one alive done there. Maybe more. Why don't we just have a look ourselves?"

"Meaning?"

"There is a plot of grass about seventy meters from the site where we could land. One of us could jump out, run over the site, have a look around and report back. It will facilitate things whenever that _blasted_ evac-valk arrives."

Jonah thought about it as they passed over the site. He could not see anyone moving around down there anymore. The man must have ducked inside the craft. The idea of landing _Sunfire_, then getting out and running through the jungle, which might be concealing enemy cultists, to a crash site with would undoubtablely draw enemies towards it, was not Jonah's idea of a good time.

"I don't like it, Balor. It could get messy down there."

"They're ours down there, 'Garsos, true-and-through, you know what I mean. I'd hate to leave them there without at least checking on them. Look, I'll do it."

"No, if anyone does it it'll be me. You take _Sunfire_ and stay damn close in case I need extraction."

"I was Air-Assault; I used to do this sort of thing for breakfast. I should go."

"Negative. You haven't been winning any foot races since you got that metal hoof of yours. I'll go," Jonah said. And as an attempt at easing the building tension he added in a voice vaguely similar to Zelekin's own aloofness, "And that's final. An officer has spoken."

"Pfft! Yes, me lord," Sun replied in his finest high-class Beligarso accent, similar to Jonah's own. He could hear Sun's smirk over the intercom.

::::

They set down quickly and Jonah popped his canopy. He pulled out the intercom cable and plugged in his hand-held vox unit. He quickly undid his straps and climbed out. His feet hit the soggy ground with a wet thump. He moved away from _Sunfire_ and gave Sun a positive sign – a thumbs up – and _Sunfire's_ engines roared and the aircraft took off. Jonah turned his face away and buried it in his shoulder.

After the sound had lessened and the whipping forces of the vector engines had stopped, Jonah looked up and around. The jungle was thick and green and dark and all encompassing. He was surrounded by an impenetrable mass of green and black. He drew out his sidearm, a heavy caliber six shot revolver – a dull silver, fat-barreled Phaeton made .44 'Magnus'.

"Frak me in the frakhole …" he muttered, already sweating.

His vox crackled, "Ignis. Site. Seventy meters. West."

He tapped the button on his belt mounted vox, "Solid." He turned west and moved at a quick trot.

Jonah found the crash-site quickly enough and crept up to a tree, glancing at the site from cover. The Valkyrie had gone down hard, tearing a gaping hole in the jungle. Plant debris still continued to hang in the air or spin slowly to the ground. He was staring at the rear-right side of Echo Nine. The pride of the 99th, an open-winged Raptor-Bird decal on the rear tailwing was scraped and ruined. On the tail-boom Jonah could read aircraft's designator script, _PH-005-42b-744/X99e.9_. The central chassis looked mostly intact and from the looks of it the central nacelle as well. No fire. He did not smell fuel, the fuel tanks were intact.

He crept from the jungle and paced along the side of the downed bird. To his surprise he found a crewman sitting on the ground under the starboard wing, staring into space.

Jonah rushed to him, "What happened?" he asked.

The crewmen blinked a few times then muttered, "We crashed."

"Soldier! Is anyone else alive?"

He man blinked a few more time then said, "Yeah. Gunner Olds made it. He's in the hold."

"The pilots?"

The man just shrugged and stared into space.

Jonah moved away from the man, knowing the shock of the crash would take hours or days to wear off, if it ever did. Climbing through the side hatch, he looked around and discovered the extent of the missile damage. The armored bay floor had buckled and warped, the rear ramp and hydraulic systems were smashed and burned. Finding no one, he climbed out of the other hatch. Jonah found gunner Olds squatting by the cockpit ladder, administering to a limp soldier.

"Puke," Jonah muttered.

The man looked around and grinned. He had a grievous face wound, his ear was completely gone and there was a long red tear from the hole to his chin. The gunner had stuck a wad of gauze to the face, the blood holding it in place. The gunner's name matched his age, he was old, and an oldhand. He replied gruffly, "You the help?"

"Negative. I'm just checking to see if help was needed. You seem to have everything under control," Jonah said, mocking the gravity of the situation to make it more bearable. He moved to the unconscious man and noted by his kit that he was a pilot, "What's his damage?" Jonah placed his finger tips on his neck.

"Nothing now, he's dead. I was just getting him out," Olds said. The gunner turned the body over slightly, a shard of metal had pierced the Valkyrie pilot's neck, punching straight into his brain. The gunner said, "It's the navigator I'm worried about."

"Where is he?"

"In the jungle, about ten meters in. I didn't want to move him without a stretcher. I think his neck is broken, he went through the glass."

"Through the glass? Show me."

Olds nodded, grabbed his lasrifle, and limped off.

The navigator was still in his seat. The entire assembly had broken lose and smashed out of the lower cockpit on impact. The canopy was designed to be shatter proof, and the amount of force needed to drive the co-pilot through would have had to been immense. The man was slumped forward, his head held at an odd angle. Jonah lightly pressed his fingers against his neck, there was a weak pulse. He pressed his ear up to man's face, he could hear light breathing. He saw the man's chest tag, Lupe was his name. "Hang on, Lupe, you ugly puke. Hang on," he muttered.

Back at the crash site _Sunfire_ passed overheard, the roar of the Vulture's engines a sound of great comfort to Jonah. He tapped his vox, "Balor, I've got three livers down here. All wounded. One with a broken neck. One dead, the pilot. Critical evac situation down here. Where's that Valkyrie?"

"Just got word from Gamma Six. He's four minutes out."

"Throne-be-blessed! Tell them to be quick, I don't like it down here."

::::

Gamma Six hovered and roared over head. Jonah stood on top of the ruined twin-engine assembly of the downed craft, one hand covering his eyes. He watched a drop-rope spin out of the starboard hatch of the hovering craft, and a man in brown fatigues slid down the rope awkwardly. He stumbled quite a bit after landing, all but crawling away from the rope. From the port hatch another cable was lowered, with a litter-basket attached at the end. Jonah stretched his other arm to grab the spinning basket. Once the aviator had the litter he waited until he had several meters of excess cable and butt-slid down the wing.

The man who had slid down the rope gathered himself together and moved towards Jonah. Jonah saw him, and waved the men to him, and pointed towards into the juggle. The brown uniformed man's nervousness was palpable, his helmet bounced around and as his head was on a constant swivel, desperately looking for enemies with wide eyes. Jonah grabbed the basket, detached it from the cable, and yelled for him to help.

The man ran over to him and Jonah yelled, "Are you the medic?"

"No!" the man shook his head.

"What?"

"Stretcherbearer," the man yelled, tapping himself in the chest, poking a Munitorium badge.

"The man's still alive!" Jonah yelled, confused.

The stretcherbearer shrugged. "They said he was dead."

"Well he's not! Come on!" The frantic Munitorium man grabbed the poles and followed Jonah. When they arrived at Lupe the stretcherbearer threw down the litter and went to grab the navigator. He roughly took hold of Lupe's shoulders, twisting them, when he suddenly stopped. He was staring down the bore of Olds's lasrifle and it was stuck right in his face. The gunner snarled, "Easy-off, puke! You're hurting him!"

Jonah pushed the Muntorium man away and went to unstrap Lupe when he thought it might be a bad idea. "Olds!" he yelled, "We shouldn't move him!"

Olds just stared angrily at the nervous stretcherbearer.

Jonah looked around, "Help me get the seat back to the site."

The two Beligarso men took hold of seat, with Lupe strapped in it weighted far more than they expected and they struggled through the dense jungle back to the crash-site. After two the guardsmen had moved away the stretcherbearer glanced anxiously over his shoulder, into the dark jungle. He hurriedly joined them, lending hands to take some of the weight, and speed up the process.

The other door-gunner had recovered enough of his wits to stand around and watch them bear the weight of over four hundred pounds of machinery and man.

Once they were back at the crash site, Olds ran to dangling cable and pulled hard. When the cable went taut, he'd tug again and the Valkyrie drifted forward. It looked like a man walking a dog, only in reverse.

Between the two guardsmen then attached the entire chair assembly to the cable. The stretcherbearer stood around looking everywhere, except at Lupe.

"Get on!" Jonah shouted at him, snapping him out of terror.

"What?"

"Get on him," Jonah said, patted Lupe's lap, "and hold on!"

Olds had fashioned a crude neck brace out of a couple of jackets and length of rubber tubing, he was talking into Lupe's ear. The stretcherbearer reluctantly straddled Lupe, and Jonah gave the door-gunner above them a thumbs-up. The Munitorium man held on tight as the winch brought them skywards.

Jonah watched the four daggling legs and _Sunfire's_ engines roared as the craft passed nearby. Olds hustled the other door-gunner back to Echo Nine, to get the pilot's body and collect the most critical equipment. They laid the body on the unused litter along with the black-box log chest, flight scrolls, and the aircrafts's cogitator, which housed its machine spirit.

When the chair, with riding stretcherbearer, was pulled into Gamma Six, the cable was tossed out and lowered. Olds and Jonah rigged up the metal litter and make the crash-shocked gunner lay down on top of the dead pilot. Slow on the uptake, he made to comment but by then it was winched away.

They watched the basket get pulled into the bay, and a few moments later cable get tossed out without the basket, and slither down quickly. Olds leaned forward and yelled in Jonah's ear, "Thanks Lieutenant."

"True-and-Through!" Jonah yelled back over the sound of the Valkyrie's vector jets.

Olds smiled and patted his shoulder, then he slipped suddenly, falling to the ground.

Jonah squatted down to help the man up when he noticed an expanding pool of blood. He reached around Olds's back and his hand came away bloody. He looked up at the bird overhead, the door-gunner was leaning far out of the hatch, looking down at him, twirling an arm and motioning for him to _hurry-up_. Jonah watched the man suddenly look away, and the other door-gunner opened fire with his heavy bolter. The jungle to the front of the downed craft was torn apart in a hail of fire.

Mad men dressed in rags and mud came rushing out, weapons blazing.

Jonah felt a round punch through his trouser pocket, another hit his helmet, throwing him to the ground. On his back he grabbed frantically for the trashing cable. Bolter fire from above raked the ground, blowing mud-men apart and forcing others to dive for cover.

Jonah crawled forward, hastily running the cable through Olds's webbing. He waved he hands wildly at the door-gunner. The cable jerked taut and Olds swung up and away, hitting Jonah in the face with a boot, splitting his lip and knocking him down again.

The Valkyrie reared up, hard and fast, and banked left, its door-gunners pouring fire into the jungle, the dangling Olds just cleared the tree line. Jonah threw himself against the wing of Echo Nine and pulled out his hand cannon. He let off all six rounds at the men rushing from the jungle. The big revolver roared thunderously, fire spat from the barrel. He managed to hit one man square in the chest, a cloud of red mist bloomed out of his back. He thought he winged another.

His display of firepower was dwarfed utterly when Sun rushed in and flared hard, leveled out, and unloading with autocannons. The men, and several dozen square meters of jungle simple ceased to exist. Then he did an impressive pedal turn, rotating 90 degrees, and laid down a wall of fire to Jonah's unprotected flank. Steaming hot shell casings showered down on Jonah. The aviator screamed, covered his head, and holstered his revolver.

After four seconds of _Sunfire's_ wraith, Jonah was up and running hard through the jungle. Seventy meters to the clearing, his only thought. Seventy meters to the clearing.

He ran for all his worth, muttering "_puke-puke-puke"_ through clenched teeth. Fifty meters.

He glanced up and saw _Sunfire_ skimming low over the tree tops. He screamed and sprinted the last twenty-five meters.

He ran into the cleaning and saw _Sunfire_ hovering just off the ground ahead of him. Sun yelled, "Get down" into his vox and Jonah threw himself face first into the muddy water, arms covering his head. Heavy bolter rounds and autocannon shells passed a few feet above him and destroyed the treeline, and hopefully any pursuers. Jonah's screams could not be heard over the sound of discharging weapons.

"Run," came a tiny, tinny cry over his helmet vox.

Jonah did not need to be told twice. When he reached the ladder, he flew up it and threw himself into the already opened cockpit. He landed awkwardly, his head in the footwell, and screamed, "Gogogogo!"

_Sunfire_ vectored up, throttled forward and banked left, circling twice as it climbed, coming to join with Gamma Six at one thousand meters.

Once Jonah got himself back into his seat, strapped in, and mic'ed up his helmet with shaking hands. Suddenly, he needed to piss very badly. He bellowed at Sun, "Frak you, Balor. Frak you and your puking mother!"

Sun laughed loudly, "What, you didn't like it? No coppery adrenaline rush?"

"No, you damned, no! Only water, mud and blood! They were shooting at me, for Throne sake! Never again, you ugly bastard, you hear me, never again!"

"If you say so. Though, that gunner you hooked up by the belt, he's alive and kicking. You saved him, Ig. You're really true-and-through."

"Shut up, Balor," Jonah grumbled. "Take me home."

Jonah looked at the dark green Valkyrie flying aside them, at the shadowy figures in the port hatch. He smiled.

Sun did as he was told; only pausing long enough to use some rockets to completely destroy what was left of Echo Nine.


	5. Lady Love, Love Me

**Chapter IV**

**Lady Love, Love Me**

**::::**

"_During the Great and Holy Macharian Crusade in the Segementum Pacificus, the planet of Duma serves as an example of a near prefect prolonged airlift operation. The honorable General Tarka, Throne rest his soul, carved a corridor out of the enemy's lines with concentrated saturation bombing, fearsome airstrikes, and orbital Naval fire. This narrow alleyway allowed the crews of every Valkyrie to fly three non-stop months of supply drops to the beleaguered Imperial forces surrounded by a ring of blackhearted traitors. Near prefect I say, because hundreds of crafts were lost, and thousands of crewmen were killed in those three short months. However, they did their duty and saved the lives of thousands of Elysian droptroopers_."  
-Introduction to the Elysian Airlift technique taught to all young Beligarso pilot-cadets

**::::**

When the Cex soldiers reached the river a week after the initial assault to clear and claim the ridge, they were immediately ordered to advance to the north side. Sabrese had lead a thousand soldiers in a midnight river crossing. They were thrown back with horrific losses. Sabrese himself nearly drowned when his watercraft took a hit from an explosion, throwing all aboard into the warm water.

Over the following days two more attempts were made at crossing the Emsis, both failed, even with the support of every Beligarso aircraft in the area. The jungle was particularly thick on the north side, and the aircraft could not utilize their armaments to the fullest. It was Engineseer Iso who came up with a solution to their problem. He gathered together all the other tech-priests and using ancient and arcane formulae concocted vats of volatile napalm. Gleefully, Odavos ordered the Vultures to burn the jungle. The firestorms burned at over one-thousand degrees and the self-perpetuating winds fanned the flames for great distances. The ruined lands were henceforth called The Sticks, after the hundreds of thousands of the bare, blackened tree trunks.

Banking hard down-left, the flight of dark green Vultures roared quickly over the jungle at just over one hundred meters. At an order, all six aircraft jettisoned six large canisters from under their hooked wings. The canisters tumbled to the jungle forest below, erupting into a huge cloud of flame. Between the thirty-six firebombs, ninety-thousand square meters of jungle was covered in liquid flame. The sticky jellied flammable laid waste to anything it touched.

"Uglys, return to Melmo and get more juice," came Odavos's voice over the vox. The six aircraft held formation and vectored up to one thousand meters and angled south. For miles and miles the north side of the river Emsis was a barren, smoking ruin of blackened tree-corpses and fields of ash. The gunships of the three squadrons had been running non-stop bombing runs for two days.

Jonah looked out of his cockpit and what he saw did not make him happy. It was not pleasing work to lay waste to such primal beauty. The jungles were home to millions of species of plant and animal life. Flowers he'd never smell. Birds he'd never hear sing. Bugs he'd never watch fly. It hurt him to see it burned to ash and toxic mud. Most of the other Beligarso pilots felt the same, though they did their duty without hesitation or question or complaint.

Natural beauty meant much to the men and women from Beligarso. Their home world was a paradise world, a world unspoiled with pollution and waste - beautiful, clean, pristine. From space it was colored in shades of green, blue, white, brown and grey. It was a world made wealthy from the droves of tourists and Imperial elite who came to take advantage of a world still in it glorious prime. As a paradise world Beligarso is declared _Aptus Non_, and therefore exempt from paying an Imperial tithe. The Segmentum lords did not want the world, a world they viewed as a playground of the great and wealthy, to damage itself by exploiting its resources to meet the tithe demands. Like so many other the Imperial worlds leeched to death by vampiric planetary governors.

Though not required, as good Throne-fearing citizens they still raised regiments for the Emperor's wars nonetheless. A result of all that wealth was that they were able to found and support dozens of expensive, top-quality Imperial Guard regiments. Namely, highly-skilled and expensive to train types - droptroopers and stormtroopers. The most expensive regiment they fielded was the 99th Aviation Regiment.

When Ugly returned to the Grand Park, another flight of Vultures were rising up and powering forward, heavy canisters slung underwing. Jonah watched them shoot past, various snake emblems painted on their jutting cockpits.

"Look at all the Pigs," Sun said over the intercom.

Jonah looked out and down. On the ground were a dozen dark green Arvus Lighters. Crewed by a single pilot and a loadmaster, the general purpose cargo shuttles were the workhorse of the regiment, the unsung heroes of the 99th. The Lighters nipped between the surface and the fleet in orbit hauling a great deal of the material required for prolonged operations. The twin-engine, stub-winged craft had a variety of nicknames, all relating to the utility craft's squat, barrel-like shape and tough, stubborn personality. Men in Cex grey fatigues were unloading crates, racks, and boxes from the rear of the cargo haulers. Melmo was getting a major resupplied, a sure sign that things were heating up.

"Ugly Four land on cage four-one, repeat four-one. Be advised it'll be a hot turn around," voxed the air control officer.

"Copy Control, cage four-one. Going in hot-to-trot," replied Sun.

They came in low, flared lightly and hover taxied to his allotted landing zone. Jonah flicked controls quickly, turning off systems not required for take-off. Putting the powerplant on standby, the big engine went from an angry rumble to a contended purr. Jonah popped the canopy and climbed out to stretch his legs. Sun dropped down alongside him.

The air stank of hot metal and aircraft fuel. The smell of the raw fuel and petrochemicals used to make napalm made eyes water and throats burn. Beligarso groundcrew were already wheeling out fuel carriages, pulling on hoses, and unloading carts with bolter reloads, working hard to get the gunships rearmed.

Enginseer Iso's minions rode up on a particularly gruesome looking servitor. It had the top-half of a man and the lower-half of a tracked-flatbed. Two junior engineer-mystics rode on the drone's flatbed, their red robes flapping in the wind. One stood with a hand on the servitor's head, steering the cybernetically-enhanced drone by turning its head. The flat bed was loaded with heavy, dark canisters. Clanking up, the juniors jumped off as the servitor came to a stop. Soon the Marians were efficiently rearming the Vulture with napalm bombs, chanting softly to themselves as they worked.

Jonah and Sun saw Odavos waving at them and they jogged over.

"My little ugly babies, go get some hot chow, rehydrate yourselves, and grab a quick nap if you like."

"A nap, sir? I thought Control called for a hot-turnaround?" Wind asked.

"They did. However, they didn't reckon with our efficiency. We're dropping the stuff quicker than the Cogites can make it. Next batch ready in about two hours, then, we'll be making our next run. Except, Ugly Four, Five and Six your loads are ready, now. Off you go."

"What?" Jonah shouted.

"Problem?" asked Odavos, smirking.

"Yes sir. Big problem!"

"Which is?"

"Those bastards," Jonah took a moment to point out each of the crews that would not be flying, "will eat all the good stuff, and leave us," he took another moment to point out the crews that would be flying shortly, "steadfast and true _heroes_ of the Imperium, with just about _puke_ to eat. I'm about to go man-down with hunger!"

"Looks like somebody needs a nap," said Parrish, gunner of the _Tusker_, in a mocking child-like voice.

Odavos and the others snorted and snickered, "Oh, quit your whining, Jonah. Put on your mansuit! It's only twenty five minutes round trip; you can have your nap when you get back. You know what? I'll tuck you right in myself. Maybe even read you a story, too. If you get afraid of the dark and can't sleep, we could cuddle for a bit, you know, just 'til to you fall asleep."

Jonah stared at his commander, hands on his hips, and said, "You're all a bunch of frakkers." He turned and walked back to his aircraft. Laughter chased him across the park.

::::

Sun found himself at war suddenly. An invading horde of the giggles threatened to erupt from his mouth. He walked a good distance behind Jonah, wanting to give his friend space in case the giggles did overcome his stern resolve to keep them trapped in his throat. When he reached _Sunfire_, Jonah fumed and paced aggressively. Sun know Jonah was a surprising sensitive to ridicule, though the older man also knew he loved the attention. The dichotomy of hating being mocked, but needing to be the centre of attention was something they did not share.

Seeing his friend's angry face gave the giggle-horde strength and a few snorting skirmishers escaped, launching themselves into the air. Jonah's head snapped around at the sound. Sun desperately covered his mouth with a hand and squeezed his lips together tightly. Jonah glared at him, and all Sun could do was shrug and turn away.

The gunner pressed his forehead against the metal hull of the cockpit, letting out a few calming breaths, determined to defeat the giggles. Not that he did not want to laugh of at Jonah, he laughed at him regularly, he just did not want any undue tension on their next flight sortie. After a dozen deep breaths, he felt better and turned to face Jonah. The irritated look on the pilot's face was too much for him. Sun's defenses crumbled instantly.

The giggles came first, but they were only the vanguard for the greater forces of mirth storming out of his chest. A large armored force of tank-like chortles burst forth. Sun had to place one hand on _Sunfire's _metal hull for balance when the artillery barrage of deep-gut aching laughter shrieked out, covering the advance of the tank-chortles. The attack was finished with infantry forces guffawing their way over the remains of the Sun's polite-defenses.

He bellowed, "Look at your face! It's like someone kicked your mother!"

When Sun was finished with the last few snorts, Jonah just shouted, "Shut up!" and went to investigate something of interest on the tail boom. For Sun, that was all that was needed for the laugh-war to be renewed.

"Nice come back, frak-face!" he howled with great mirth.

::::

Jonah was in a foul mood and the flight to The Sticks was a quiet one. Sun would occasionally suffer from belated giggle surprise attacks, much to Jonah's displeasure.

After one such attack, Jonah said, "Damn it, Balor. I'm second in command of this squadron, you should be giving me more respect."

Sun just laughed, "Oh come on, Ig. You're overreacting."

"I'm not," he whined, "I shouldn't have to put up with you laughing in my face. I'm your direct superior and an officer, Gunner/Co-pilot Sergeant Balor Salvinus Sun." Jonah then added, "Ugly come about for attack run, standby for release."

"Rank _and_ my full name, you must be serious, _Flight Lieutenant Prime Grade_ _Ignis Apollo Jonah_!" Sun replied cheekily, "Release ready."

The three Vultures banked left, coming in low and hot. Tracer fire snapped up at them. "Mark that position on the map."

"Marked," said Sun.

"Uglys, standby for release… standby, standby … release payload," Jonah said into the vox. Sun tapped a switch and the six canisters tumbled to the ground. Behind them bloomed a great and terrible fire-cloud.

"Uglys, climb to one thousand, come to heading two-twenty," Jonah said into the vox. Order confirmations pinged back. He then switched to intercom, "Yeah, I'm serious. You're giving me grief and all I'm doing is looking out for you're dumbarse. I wasn't kidding when I said those pukes would eat everything. They always do. Now we'll have to eat ration-blocks instead of some good proper hot food."

"I like ration blocks," Sun said stonily. The tone in Sun's voice made to clear he wasn't interested in jovial chat any longer.

When they put down at Melmo and deboarded Sun took Jonah by the elbow. The strength of the grip took Jonah by surprise.

"What?" Jonah asked quickly.

"Ignis," Sun said, looking down at Jonah, using all his size and hardness to appear as threating as possible - and it was significant. There was not an ounce of compassion in his hard, dark eyes. "I respect you. We're worldkin, and brothers-in-arms, and you are like blood to me. However, if you ever… _ever_ … hide behind rank again, I'll bust your face." He raised a fist to highlight his point. His fist was large, scarred, and hard. "You looked liked a child earlier, mouthing off to Flem like that. You're a combat decorated aviator. You need to _man_ the frak up."

Jonah stared at Sun in surprise and a mild shame.

"Yeah … yeah alright …" he said, mostly to himself.

Sun let go of his elbow and give him a small nod, like a sergeant would give a nervous private. "Let's get something to eat."

Jonah complaining aside, he was proven right. The other six crewmembers had eaten everything. "The bastards," Sun muttered. They found a few scraps of soup and bread to add to their meal of reheated Slab. Afterwards, they retired to the hotel, throwing themselves down on the mattresses, not even bothering to pull off their boots.

:::

A few hours later a Cex duty-soldier woke them by banging on the door with a heavily-booted foot and giving them an inventive string of profanities.

Grumbling, they rose and wandered down to the lobby. They found Odavos there. He was sitting in the sun by the blown out windows, enjoying a cup of caffeine and reading a newssheet.

"Sir," they both muttered, taking seats at the table.

"Did you hear the news?" he asked them.

"No," Jonah said, his eyes locked onto the cup in Odavos hand, "Where'd you get that caff?"

Odavos looked at the cup and smiled, "A couple of Cex'er had a pot brewing around the corner. Saw the wings on my vest and offered me a complimentary cup."

Jonah went to tell Sun to see if he could try his luck at getting them some, but the tall aviator was already rushing out of the door. Jonah smiled.

"It seems that old lady Nurbah was mugged off of High Street. And that the Melmo City Council is investigating into developing North Branch," Odavos said casually.

"What?"

"News Ignis, the news!" he shook the newssheet at him. Jonah snatched it away from him and looked at it. After a few minutes reading something occurred to him, "Flem," Jonah said with extreme exacerbation, "This newssheet is ten-months old …"

"And?"

"There is something seriously wrong with you," he said, throwing the newssheet to the floor and putting his head down on the table.

"Duly noted, Jonah, duly noted. Onto other news, I heard from Central."

"Oh," Jonah said disinterestedly.

"I'm getting a promotion."

"You don't say …" Jonah said already half-asleep, than his head shoot up, "wait … what, promotion? Congrats, sir."

"Thank you Jonah. Very kind of you, indeed. _Commander_ Odavos … has a nice ring to it," the officer said. "Oh yeah, on a less important note you're also getting a promotion."

"What?" Jonah asked, "you're puking on me?"

"Nope. You and Sun putting down and getting that Valk crew out of there really impressed Zelekin. I do believe the words he used were … ," Odavos paused a moment and did a passable impression of Zelekin, "… Hot _damn_! Is there nothing Vulture pilots can't do?" Odavos smiled and said in his normal voice, "Then they told me to promote you. _Captain_ Jonah … it just doesn't sound right me. Very jarring to the senses. Unpalatable to say."

"Golden Throne…" Jonah said slowly, then more excitedly. "And Balor? It was his idea, and you should have seen him handle the craft singlehandedly."

Odavos frowned for a moment then leaned forwards and spoke seriously to Jonah, "I'm sorry, Ignis, but you know how the Air Colonel feels about Balor. He's getting a citation for flightmanship on his record and a flying ribbon, but nothing more."

Jonah scowled, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arm, and glowered angrily. "A Flying ribbon! They're so common I wipe my arse with them. I won't accept it, no sir. If Balor doesn't get anything besides a note on his record and a colored piece of cloth … no, ftak it, I'm not accepting.

"Ignis don't do this. This is your chance. As a captain you'll be in a position to get your own squadron when a spot opens up. Don't let your pride stand in the way of your career."

"No, Flam. My pride is my career. My pride in flying, fighting, and in Ugly. I can't accept a promotion knowing Balor is actively getting shat-on by Zelekin. He's an amazing gunner and has become a damned fine pilot, as good as any in Ugly flight. He can't get his own craft until he gets a commission and I know that's what he wants. Until the day he gets his officer's patch, I'll be riding with him."

"Commendable, Ignis. Your faith really is quite commendable. However, I can guarantee you turning down a promotion from _Zeus One_ himself will not do Balor any favors."

Jonah frowned and stared out the window. Odavos was right. Not accepting the promotion would be an insult to an egotist like Zelekin, and if word got out that he did it because of his support for Balor Sun, the Air Colonel would be doubly insulted. Jonah's chance for any further advancement would be slim-to-none.

"Damn it, Flam. I wouldn't have thought I would be fighting _NOT_ to get a promotion. What do I tell Balor?"

Odavos leaned back in his chair and said, "I don't know, but here he comes."

Sun walked over with three metal mugs of steaming hot black caffeine. It smelled brutal and potent. He plunked them down on the table and looked at his commander, "Just the way you like it, sir. Rocket fuel." Odavos nodded, took the cup and looked away.

"Ig?" Sun asked, presenting a mug to Jonah and noting the mood at the table.

The aviators were notoriously open with their feelings and often were very informal with each other outside of the cockpit. That allowed friendships to build and, more importantly, develop in an atmosphere where they could be frank and open - like Sun telling Jonah off a few hours before. That ability to comment on each other's flying and fighting without fear of hurting each other's feelings had been critical to the success of the squadron.

Jonah took the cup and placed it on the table. He took to spinning it around by the handle, avoiding Sun's look. Sun looked back and forth between the two officers and asked in his hard, I-used-to-be-a-sergeant-of-the-air-assault-infantry tone of voice, "Sirs, is there something I should be aware of?"

The commander shrugged and watched Jonah closely. The pilot stopped spinning the mug and brought it his lips, he muttered into the black liquid, "I'm getting promoted," then took a sip.

After a moment of silence Sun slapped Jonah hard on the back, making him burn his lip and spill his caff all over his lap and table, "Atta boy, Ig! I mean, Captain Jonah!" he threw a tight salute. "I knew you had it in ya!"

"Balor, shut up. It's 'cause of the rescue of Echo Nine. I'm getting a fancy new rank pin, and you're getting frak-all. It's not fair."

Sun just laughed, "You dumb, dumb puke. You've obviously never served on the ground. I was there for nearly twenty years, so listen close. Fairness has little to do with promotion. Merit, and if I may be so bold as to say in my present company, connections, have more to do with it. I don't know what happens at HQ, but I'm sure they've had their eye on you for years. I'm sure the Captain …"

"Commander, actually," Odavos interrupted.

Sun nodded and continued, "the _Commander_, has even written glowing reports about you."

Odavos shook his head, "Nope, I can't stand the man."

Sun smirked, "Ig, be proud. You're being recognized for your abilities. Now like I said earlier, man up and quit whining like a bitch."

"Hear hear," agreed Odavos, clinking mugs with Sun in celebration.

After a long moment of silence Jonah sipped his caff again and muttered, "Whatever ..." He used the mug to hide his smile, strangely glad Sun was proud of him.

While it could take months, even years, for the promotion to become official within the juggernaut of bureaucracy of the Munitorum, Jonah was allowed to wear the ranks pins of Captain and be accorded all the respect and responsibility due to the rank. The informal promotion procedures happened much quicker. What followed was a tradition amongst aviators of the 99th when they were promoted to Captaincy.

Firstly, Jonah had to be congratulated by the ground team that supported Ugly, and the two dozen men and women liked to play rough. They captured him when he walked back from the trench that serviced as their toilet. They stripped him naked, tied him to a chair, and poured buckets of water over his head. The grounders then frolicked like drug-crazed druids and circled around him while singing an old Beligarso favorite, _Ham Me More, Please_ and showering him with sand and feathers. They refused to let him go until he squawked like a Puffin Delta Sand-Piper for five minutes. After he conceded defeat, and chirped and crowed like a deranged mutant bird, he was released. They all shook hands and laughed happily. It was an honor to be afforded their respect.

After a rough bath in an old, rusty tub, Jonah found his way back to the hotel where he was accosted by his fellow squadron members. This time Jonah was forced to strip to his unders, climb on a table, sing the very long, very old tune _Lady Love, Love Me_ while dancing a traditional Beligarso quick-step. All the while, his fellow crew members threw taunts, jibs and fruit. They couldn't find any traditional throwing tomatoes, so they settled for a local fruit about the size of a small fist called Stink-Feet. Aptly named, the fruit was extremely odiferous, similar to a grunt's months-old sweats sock. It's horrendous smell aside, it was actually very sweet tasting and healthy, though few could eat it without vomiting.

As a Commander, Odavos could not participate. It was deemed undignified behavior for an officer of such an elevated rank. He sat glumly in the corner, bemoaning the fact that he couldn't throw stink-feet at Jonah.

Jonah was an able dancer. As a child growing-up he had been a keen competitor in the local parish Quick-Step tournaments. While he wasn't good enough to be a member of the 99th's choir, he had a passable signing voice. So he did not make a complete fool of himself, or so he thought. The others would have disagreed. For many years to come he would be reminded of his shrill voice, awkward dance-technique, and shockingly pale legs.

Once he had finished the tune, and was covered in dozens of fruit splats, he climbed down. All the members of Ugly squadron gathered around (but not too close, mind you, as Macer said, 'he stunk worse than a thousand Orks working out simultaneously') formed ranks, snapped smart salutes, and Sun shouted in his best parade ground bellow, "Three cheers for Captain Jonah!"

Ugly Squadron all yelled in unison, "Hip, Hip, Hurrah! Hip, Hip, Hurrah! Hip, Hip, Hurrah!"

::::

Sitting on the launch pad, canopies open the Vultures waited. Jonah and Sun climbed into the cockpit while groundcrew finished the last of their pre-flight ritual checks. Jonah lit a small stick of incense and waved his hand at the blue smoke. The sanctified scent would appease the machine spirit. Then after a quick pray, he powered on the start-up battery and listened as the internal units warmed up. The canopy was closed. The aircraft was power hungry, the battery would not last long so after two minutes he ignited the big engine. It growled like an angry beast, spewing fumes and heat.

With the engine running on idle his first check was the displays on the wrap-around instrument panels. All were lit and active, runes and script scrolled on the active-log. The diagnostics and mechanical were clean and clear. He checked the crafts aeronautics; flaps to control lift and drag, ailerons to control pitch and roll. They worked smoothly. Engine hydraulics were up the pressure and moving cleanly. Avionics were fine. Vectorjets pressure was running little high, but that was normal for _Sunfire_. Then he checked that fuel gauge; it read half full. After making sure he would be able to fly, only then did he check his weapons systems.

The first thing he did was make sure they were recognized by the cogitator. All weapon-systems were green-light. He sync'ed his individual helmet targeter with the laser-targeter in the sensor pod mounted on the nose of the craft. On the grey tinted visor in front of his eyes relevant information was displayed. The weapons, and their range, showed as a collection of different colored lines and dots in his heads-up-display - red for bolter, yellow for autocannons and green for rockets. In white, the ammo capacity meter showed he carried twelve-hundred heavy bolter rounds, five-hundred high-explosive rounds for each autocannon, and one-hundred-and-eight rockets in the triple-pack pods under each wing. He quickly slaved the nose-mounted heavy bolter to his position and rolled his helmet around, feeling the motor of the unit vibrate with the movement of his head. He toggled the weapon back to Sun's position.

Craft, check - fuel, check - weapons, check - he was ready to go.

After a sigh Jonah scribbled a note onto the memo-pad strapped to his thigh. He opened his canopy, and a thunderous, overwhelming sound of the engine roared two meters from his head. He waved to a nearby grounders. He man trotted over and climbed up the steps and tilted his head to ask, _what_? Jonah pulled the sheet off and passed it to the ground crew standing on the access ladder next to him. The helmeted grounder looked at the note, nodded, and gave a thumbs-up. Then the grounder took a moment and slipped a small, black bird feather into the webbing of his survival vest. He grinned at Jonah, who smiled back. They knuckled-tapped briefly and the grounder dropped down the ladder. Jonah tapped a switch and the cockpit hissed shut. Once closed, nearly all noise from the outside was cut off. Only the low rumble of the engine could be heard.

"Everything alright?" Sun asked over the intercom.

"Just writing my official acceptance of promotion."

Jonah saw Sun look at the mirror mounted on the upper left of the lower cockpit, used for communication when the intercom failed, frown and simply shook his head. "Come on, we're late as it is. Get a move on, or they'll leave without us."

"Yeah," Jonah muttered, "Control, requesting launch sequence."

The vox clicked and chirped for a moment, "Ugly Four, you're on standby-to-go."

"Understood," Jonah replied. "Sun, two minutes."

The gunner gave a thumbs-up to the mirror and the two airmen sat in silence as the other Vulture squadrons launched, one after another. Jonah looked right and left out of the canopy, making sure his wings were clear and no groundies were nearby and he ran his eye over the wrap-around instrument panels one final time.

The vox popped, "Ugly flight, proceed to fueling stations."

"Received," Sun said.

Turbines wailed and vector-jets rumbled, slowly at first then climbing into a mighty roar. Two by two the aircraft hover-taxied to the refueling area. They drank deeply of promethium, before hover-taxing to the launching pads. There, small shadows flitted amongst the dark green forms. Groundies tended to the aircrafts' every final need. Exhaust fumes wreathed the combat aircraft, like the breath from a pack of hungry predators.

The vox crackled and an operator said, "Ugly Flight, wings-free and God-Emperor's speed."

"Wings free!" Jonah yipped loudly.

"Wings free." Sun said much more stoicly.

The six crafts poured power into their engines. The huge F200-KW4 afterburning vector-turbojet roared. Each of the six pilots diverted energy to the vector-vents at the end of each crooked wing. The force generated allowed the crafts to rise easily. At thirty meters they tilted the aircraft's nose down, throttled to twenty-five percent and powered away from the airfield.


	6. The Hands of the Clocks

**Chapter V**

** The Hands of the Clocks**

**::::**

"_You start with a full bag of luck and an empty bag of experience, hopefully, you fill up the experience bag before running the bag of luck empty_."  
-Old Beligarso Aviator Maxim

**::::**

General Draco's office gave the Cex Major Sabrese a timetable of one week to secure of the river Emsis. By the end of week two into Operation Emsis, he had obvious failed met their objectives in the given time allotment.

High Command's displeasure was fearsome. Sabrere was ordered in no uncertain terms to secure the high ground on the northside of the river as whatever the cost, be it his own life.

However, when the force was ordered to cross the river and assault the chaos units on the other side, they had met fearsome resistance. Sabrese was forced to consolidate their position on the south side of the river. Going against orders shouted down the vox-link, the Cex officer waited a further two day while the Beligarso Vultures fire-bombed the north side to cinders and ash. After days of bombing, Sabrese again tired to cross the Emsis. He had success at several points along the three mile-wide front, particularly at Willos Crossing, where he managed to get some units across and establish beachheads. During the dark hours of the night, he ferried the rest of his depleted companies across. They started their advance again at day break. By this point Sabrese had lost nearly eleven-hundred of his planet-kin, which amounted to over half his forces.

His final operational objective was to clear the village on the high ground and the palace estate overlooking the river. One last push before he and his units were to retire to Pirotta. With six Vultures circling overhead, Cexs from Sabrese's Jade Company warily stalked into the village. It had taken them ten hours of hard climbing through thick, enemy infested jungle to get there. Sabrese himself was with them, his other companies where still in the jungles or strung out along the riverside for miles in neither direction.

They came at the small, neat village from the south-east. Initially, they met little to no resistance, which was implausible, as the dark green Vultures overhead where actively engaging enemy units further in the village. The Foe was there, they were just waiting, hoping to draw the Cexs into prepared kill-zones amongst the narrow side streets and plant shrouded yards. Sabrese knew this and still ordered his men to clear the village, house-by-house if necessary.

The weary, tired Cex doggedly advanced.

::::

Overlooking the river Emsis and napalm ruined jungle was the large estate house, called Alto Cobels by the locals. The elegant and extravagant estate sat next to the small village the Cex were now attempting to clear and secure. Minor Alto was a village of small and modest buildings in comparison to the estate, though they well kept and brightly painted. Minor Alto existed solely to support whichever planetary lord used this palace. The beautiful village's town centre was dominated by a tall, majestic bell tower, though the long iron hands hung limply, sadly, on the clock face, no longer keeping time. The Foe had been seen in and around the village and estate home. Ugly Squadron hovered nearby, two hundred meters up, using the zoom-picter mounted on the nose-bolter to spy on the village.

"Got movement," Jonah said, spotting dark figures running to the estate's wall. He angled _Sunfire_ twenty-degrees to the port and ten-degree down, lining up the figures with the yellow lines in his heads-up-display. He pulled the trigger and each autocannon spat five fist-sized rounds. He watched the zoom-picter screen for a full two seconds and waited, finger ready to unleash another salvo. It took time for aviators to get used to the delayed effect of firing weapons at a kilometer and a half away. The pict of shadowy figures hunkering down by the wall was suddenly covered in explosions and shrapnel.

After a few seconds figures were seen sprinting out of the cloud of dust and smoke, desperate to get away from the hail of high-explosives. Sun was ready for them. Without comment he hosed left to right, clipping some and dismembering others. A few figures rounded the nearest brightly painted domestic habitation unit, getting out of _Sunfire's_ line of sight. Jonah swore he heard the machine-spirit growl and snarl at the escaping enemy's arrogance. No one escaped _Sunfire's_ wrath. Jonah grinned in agreement, angling a few degrees, he unleashed two rockets at the hab. The domestic unit was blown apart in a storm of wood and fire. To make sure no one survived, Sun blasted the largest piles of rubble with heavy bolter rounds.

This is what the gunships did best. They stood off far enough to make themselves effectively invulnerable to small-arms fire, while laying down deadly and accurate fire. At that distance the Foe below them could do little against the dark green, fire-breathing death-birds.

Jonah's private vox crackled, "Ugly Four this is Aeolus Three, what's your sitrep?"

"Aeolus Three, Ugly Four … we're engaging targets on the ground. Infantry. Clearing the north side of the village," Jonah replied over the private channel. "Ammunition sixty percent, fuel fifty-three."

"Understood Ugly. We've been watching you, nice shooting. The Cex'ers have entered the village from the south-east, so watch your fire in that direction. Move onto the estate grounds, likely concentration of enemy forces there."

"Understood, Aeolus."

Jonah glanced up quickly. Aeolus Three was an Aquila Lander circling at ten thousand metres. Typically the swept-wing Aquila was used to transport officers and persons of high importance. While the Beligarso Landers performed those roles, they also used to coordinated large scale aerial engagements.

Having replaced the usual nose-mounted heavy weapon with a sophisticated camera and sensor pod, the tacticians in the cargo hold spied and sniffed out enemies, while the operations officer in the top-mounted command bubble would coordinate the whole aerial dance. With the motto of _Always Above, Always Watching_ the Aeolus squadron served as the all-seeing eye of the Beligarso 99th. While it was important for controller-craft to maximize the airborne firepower of the finite, fuel based, flight time the attack craft, another critical task was to manage the active airspace over a battlefield. As it filled up with Vultures, Valkyries, and Navy fast-movers on attack runs, the dangers of mid-air collisions were high.

Jonah flicked the vox to intercom, "Sun, the eye-in-the-sky says we're to move to the estate."

"A'right," Sun said back and turned his head, and the nose cannon, to begin scrutinizing the estate's grounds.

::::

Jonah increased his orbit rotation, which brought him cover the palace. A tall, white-washed wall wrapped around the various compounds of the estate. Jonah thought he recognized what might have been a large stable block, a large guest house, and a domed and private temple. Of course the main house itself could not be misconstrued for anything else then the manor it was, a palace. At a quick glance he thought he counted forty widows on each wing of the mansion. The grounds were sub-divide into smaller sections by low walls or bush fences. A large wood of manicured jungle plants grew along the eastern wall. The palace even had its own small river, tumbling out of the estate and cascading brightly down the cliffs to the river below.

It wasn't long before they spotted mud-covered figures running around the estates grounds. "Targets spotted," said Sun.

"Go hot when you've got a shot," Jonah replied poetically.

Suddenly _Sunfire's_ open channel vox crackled, "Ugly Four, Aeolus Three. Persecution level around the palace has been updated …" the operation controller paused a moment, as if he was hesitant to say what he had too, "… level is now _Velvet Gold_. Repeat, level Velvet Gold."

After a long pause, Sun abandoned all vox protocol and asked, "Seriously?"

Jonah snorted at the disbelief in Sun's voice. _Velvet Gold_ meant that collateral damage had to be kept to a minimum. In a case like this, the gunships could only mark targets for the infantry, they themselves were not allow to engage any targets that did not threaten them directly.

"Ugly Four switch to secure UHF," came the controller's voice, the tension was unmistakable over the superior comms of the aircraft. They switched to the pre-selected secure channel. Aeolus Three said, "Indeed Sun. I just received directives directly from Zeus One, whom received it from none other than The Stardragon himself. Alto Codals Palace is to remain … _untarnished_, is the word he used."

Jonah asked, "Whom did Draco get it from?"

"Not known at this time …" the controller said, then abruptly added, "Carry on, Ugly Four."

"Understood," Sun said. The quickness of the cut off was a sure sign higher-powers were listening.

"Building nest eggs," Jonah growled into the intercom, "while we do all red work."

Sun replied, "I would say one of the planetary elite must have survived the uprising. Now with another half dozen more regiments arriving on planet and the re-conquest assured, they're getting Draco the Stardragon to protect planetary assets for them. I sure love _dying_ for these people."

::::

Circling above the estate _Sunfire_ and _Thor's Faith_ marked targets and numbers, relaying them back to Aeolus, who passed them to the Cex soldiers advancing through the village.

"We're getting a weird ring on the auspex," Sun said.

Jonah looked over the read-out, it was weird. Hot … very hot. Very large. He pointed the sensor-pod on the nose of the gunship directly at the strange reading. Glancing up he noticed he was facing a large, elegant stable, with red paint and white trim. Another quick glance and he saw Melville's bird flying low over the far side of the estate.

Looking back at the screen, he muttered, "What the hell is that?" It was large and boxy and getting hotter by the second, "Balor, retask your screen to the nose assayer, any idea what that shape is?"

Jonah could see Sun's head tilt slightly as he examined the picture on his own screen.

"Oh frak! Get us out of here!" he roared loudly. Following Sun's bellow by instinct Jonah slammed down on two foot pedals and rammed the throttle forward, rocketing _Sunfire_ into the sky.

"Armor!" Sun was yelling into the squadron vox-net.

A tank, a chaos-corrupted annihilator, exploded out of the large barn. Painted with mud and covered in skulls and flesh-husks, the tank halted, turned its turret and fired its main weapon, twin-linked lascannons. Steam and heat waves blew off the heavy barrels, the bolts of energy as thick as man's thigh traveled fifteen hundred metres in less than a second.

_Thor's Faith_ had heard Sun's shout and turned to face the tank. Armor units are easy prey to gunships. However, caught unawares the beams hit the Vulture head on. One beam killed both Melville and Caldwell, disintegrating them as it passed through the cockpit. The other beam passed within arm's reach of the cockpit blistering the paint as it passed. The beam blasted into the huge turbofan assembly. It passed through the lightweight metal blades with ease and entered the huge engine where it destroyed everything it touched.

One moment there was a perfect Vulture gunship, the next, it was a huge ball of fire and smoke. Ugly Five came apart completely and crashed to the earth in a hail of metal and lazily smoke.

Banking hard to the right, Jonah looked out of the canopy and watched the expanding cloud of fire and smoke that marked the death of his friends. He could hear Sun speaking on vox, calmly relaying the hostile contact to Commander Odavos and Aeolus Three. Jonah understood the need for Sun's calm demeanor. They were all taught that rabid emotion in the cockpit was fruitless, dangerous and potentially fatal.

While Sun quickly worked the vox, Jonah snarled aggressively and pulled _Sunfire_ tightly around, ignoring the strain on the craft and the fearsome g-forces pushing against him. He was bent on destroying the tank that had killed his friends.

He came at the tank from almost vertical. With a quick pull of the trigger, the autocannons roared and spat rounds, pounding the tank. The high explosive shells tore at the horrific decorative fetishes mounted on the hull, but could not pierce its thick armored hide. In a great gust of dirt and grit, the tank lurched forward, roaring across the lawn. It destroyed an ornate fountain in its unseemly haste. Jonah worked the controls quickly, leveling out the gunship and coming around to give the tank with another burst of chasing autocannon fire.

The low, wide turret rotated backwards and the dual-barrel lascannon elevated to maximum angle and spat its twin beams. They narrowly missed _Sunfire. _Almost as if it was playing a game, the tank sounded a jaunty tune on its external-horn and raced straight at the guest house.

"The _bastard_," Sun snarled, than shouted down the vox-line, "Hellstrike here! Hellstrike on my location!"

The chaos tank went straight into the large, three story guest house. It entered through the side wall, caving in the entire wing and continued unhindered through the large house. Jonah had been following and the tanks maneuver was so unexpected that Jonah applied the airbrakes and hauled back on the level-stick, coming to a stop. He was low, and in danger.

Applying power, Jonah power-climbed to three hundred meters. He kept looking between _Red Star, _who had joined his orbit and the guest house. He lined it for a deluge of rockets, when it collapsed. The tank roared out of the other end of the building, the cheeky tune still playing loudly. The annihilator executed a tight track-rotated at ninety degrees and tore up the grass with its great tracks. The tank sped for a few hundred meters, then preformed another tight track-rotated and raced for the palace itself, looking like an infantryman zigzagging his way across open ground. The tank plowed up the front steps, through the heavy stone columns supporting the great portcullis, into the huge main doors and straight into the palace.

Sun spoke to Aeolus, "Aeolus Three, we just had a tank drive over our Velvet Gold."

After a moment of buzzing, the control aircraft came back, "Affirmative, we see that."

"Previous orders still stand?"

"Affirmative, Ugly Four. Velvet Gold is still in effect."

"Understood," Sun replied.

Tempted to ignore Aeolus's orders, Jonah nearly blasted the house with autocannon fire and rockets. Instead he called out the Squadron Vox, "Uglys, we've got heavy hitter hiding in the palace. It's gonna make a break for it soon, watch all angles. Let's frak it up good. For Dezbet and Silvio."

The Vultures slowly gathered, circled, and moved into orbit above the palace. Their buzzard-like shadows drifting across the on the ground.

::::

Lurking within the palace, where none of the gunships could see it, the annihilator crawled slowly forwards, effortlessly rolling over furniture and through walls. The crew of the tank were very good, and through maddened by Khrone's blood-lust in their veins, they had lost none of their skills. Out in the open they knew they stood little chance against the Death-Birds, as the increasing crazed Mudmen now called the Vultures. They also knew that even if the palace was brought down on them, the hardy tank would survive and simply power its way out of the debris. Regardless, the palace as so large that they would have to bring a significant amount of firepower to bring it down. And from what the tank commander had heard and seen, these death-birds where armed with man-killing weapons, not enough heavy fire power to bring the entire palace down.

Moreover the death-birds had to see them to kill them. Then again, so did they.

The top hatch popped open and a chaosman leap out. He could hear the low grumble of the tank and the high-pitched whine of the capacitors recharging the lascannons. He could also hear the whoosh of the Vultures circling outside. The tanker raced quietly through the house, coming to hide near a blown out window. He waited for nearly a minute, throwing himself into cover when one of the orbiting death-birds passed near the house. After counting the aircraft, he raced back to the tank and leap aboard, telling his commander what he had seen.

The commander grinned with broken teeth and picked up the vox hand-set. He spoke rapidly and knew, this time, the death-birds would die.

::::

The tank dramatically exited the palace in an explosive shower of wood, stone and glass. The sixty ton monster roared at top speed across the rear lawns the Alto Codels. The tank fired its main weapon and both sponson mounted heavy bolters at the white-washed high wall encasing the estate. The beams and bolters punched through the mostly decorative brick and mortar with ease, tearing great holes into the wall. The tank struck the wall at nearly seventy kilometers per hour, bounced up and through the wall. With only the briefest of pauses, the tank raced into the village.

The Vultures turned their circular orbits into extended ovals, to encompass the village.

The tricky tank plowed through hab units and shoppe buildings, and the Annihilator roared to the center of the village and straight into a team of Cex soldiers advancing across the square. The tracks crushed men not quick enough to get away and the side-mounted bolters opened up and a dozen guardsmen were killed or wounded. As if a cue, mud-covered chaosmen suddenly appeared from all over the village, rushing out of habs, bushes, and concealed holes dug into the earth or false panels in the habs. Armed and crazed, they engaged the Cex's with berserker fury.

The damned tank sat in the middle of the village, on the steps of the clocktower, letting loose with all of its fearsome armaments.

From across the river a speeding Vulture voxed, "Ugly Five here … Clear out, Hellstrike inbound."

Pilot Wind swung _Mauler's Mouth_ around, coming side-on to the tank. He lined up the annihilator in his gunsights and gunner Weaver confirmed target lock and with a light tap of his finger sent a hellstrike missile. The projectile flashed like a falling star across the distance. The burning star struck the tank just below the turret on the port-side, entered the tank and tore it apart from the inside. He choose to kill it twice and put another hellstrike through its rear armor plating. The sixty-ton tank flipped over and crashed in a cloud of dust and smoke.

Hellstrike missiles were designed as armor busters. They exploded in two stages. Firstly, on impact the shaped charge in the arrow-shaped nosecone ignited to spurt super-heated metal, usually a plasmatic molten copper, which melted through armor almost instantly. The second stage was the middle section of the projectile traveling through the newly melted hole, or finish punching its way through if no hole was created, and deliver its main ordnance - sixty kilos of military-grade Imperial explosive. Few vehicles in the known universe could survive a direct hit from a Hellstrike, though for those that could, a Vulture carried six.

Killing the tank was a small victory for the Imperials, however, the warriors of Mankind were now deep in an enemy trap. The Cex ground forces were caught up in a brutal close-quarter combat and the Vultures were ill positioned to help them. Above the swirling hand-to-hand melee the beautiful village clock tower woke up. Teams of chaosmen with heavy stubbers had been patiently waiting and had finally decided to get to it. The traitors lined up _Sunfire_ in their sights.

"Balor, stubber," Jonah said, as a line of armor piecing tracer rounds stitched their way.

"Get me a better angle."

"I'm trying."

_Sunfire_ banked hard left, tilting and turning, and climbing. Tracer rounds from the stubber chased the aircraft, they struck the tail boom and vertical tail wing. Jonah felt the control-sticks jerk and twitch in his hands.

By the vibrations of the aircraft he knew rounds had gone through the skin of the wings, bouncing off the armored engine chassis. Warning light flashed across his console. More bullets punched into the jut-jawed cockpit. Most of the bullet bounced off the armored skin, but a few punched through. Jonah felt one knick his boot, another struck is urine bottle, exploding piss about the compartment. Jonah saw one bullet come through the lower cockpit window, pass through Sun's headrest, blowing the stuffing out, and pass through the other window. Another bullet, unseen by either of them hit the ejection igniter. It was only by luck, or the blessing of the God-Emperor or his Mechanicus counterpart the Omnissiah, that it did not go off, blasting both pilots into the sky at five-hundred kilometers per hour.

Jonah managed to get the craft twisted around far enough that he could level off, the stubber was to their down-left. Sun fired the nose Bolter, bolts eating up a great deal of the clock tower.

"More angle!" he shouted.

Jonah pulled hard on the stick and worked the pedals quickly to snap the nose around. The airframe groaned under the sudden torque, but the nose came round enough for Sun to squirt a blast of bolts before Jonah powered up-right. Sun's rounds blew the face off the clock while the heavy stubber returned fired.

The glowing stubber rounds, heavy .50 caliber armor-piercing bullets the size of thick fingers, struck the left wing. They marched from the landing skid across the face of the wing to the large grill-faced searchlight. The light shattered and exploded. The glowing fingers moved towards the cockpit, striking the rocket pod.

The first round passed into an empty chamber, bouncing around and exiting at a different trajectory then it had entered. The second and third rounds found an occupied chamber. They rattled around the rocket, shedding it. Fourth and fifth rounds bounced off the pods facing or missed. The sixth and seventh rounds ignited the motor on the rocket, but the explosive was still locked in place, a fountain of flame roared from the rocket pod's rear.

In the second it took of the Vulture to take seven direct hits Jonah had pulled the stick right and glanced left, and saw the bullets eat into his craft. He saw them hit the missile pod, and quickly flicked the pod release button. The universal clamps holding the pod snapped opened and the unit dropped two meters before the remaining rockets exploded.

The explosion crippled _Sunfire._


	7. Usefulness

**Chapter VI**

**Usefulness**

**::::**

"_Fly it like you stole it!_"  
-Beligarso attributed graffiti found outside the pilot's toilets, Pirotta City Aeroport

**::::**

Squadrons of Valkyries sat canopies up, their engines turning softly. They would be leaving in about twenty minutes.

Tutarc was inspecting the contents of an exterior hatch when he heard someone call, "Sir!"

He turned and saw a tall, bald-headed man wearing dark-green air-assault battle dress and body armor, trotting up to him.

The big man pulled up short and tossed an unnecessary salute.

"I'm busy here," Tutarc said, "You need something?"

"I hear you're down a gunner."

"I am. You my replacement?"

"Yes, sir."

"You graded?"

"Yes sir, grade A gunner."

"Alright, left side. You're welcome to it. But remember, I'm the pilot here, and you listen to the chief."

"Yes sir," the big, bald man nodded.

"Name?" the pilot asked.

"Sun."

Riding in a Valkyrie as an operator was not something Sun had done in many, many years. During his air-assault days much his training revolved around Valkyries. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Before clambering aboard the transport, he took a moment to check its boom-tail designator script. It informed him that this bird was Theta Eight. Theta Company had a good reputation. A solid team.

He lifted himself through the left-hatch and looked around the cargo hold. It was dark and the bench seating was empty. The grab-straps on the ceiling shook slightly from the two big engines overhead. He looked over the left-side heavy bolter. It was attached to a metal telescoping mount, and folded neatly up against the wall. Sun reached over and slid it out. The joints were well oiled and the arm unfolded smoothly. The weapon rolled easily on its neck-joint.

He pulled the action lever and checked that the ejection chamber was clear. While inspecting the chamber he noticed a gold Imperial Crown coin had been wielded into the bolt slot. That puzzled him and he going to ask the pilot what it was about, when he heard a shout, "Oy, Puke!"

Sun looked around and saw an old face pulling himself through the right-side door. The crew chief. The old man gave Sun the once over and stuck out his hand.

"Olds," he said.

Sun gladly grabbed it and shook it firmly, "I know you."

"That so?"

"Yeah. I was the front-seater of the Vulture that pulled you out of the jungle."

Olds gave Sun a closer look. "I'll be damned," he muttered. "Whatt'a you doing here?"

Sun pursed his lips for a long moment, returning Olds's look. "I was assigned here. After my bird crashed."

Olds nodded sagely, "The pilot?"

Sun deflected the question with a shrug. He asked, "What's with the left HB? I see a crown in the breech."

Olds recognized a subject change when is saw one. He grinned sheepishly and said, "Promise not to tell any cogites? They'd do me in for sure if they found out."

Sun looked confused but nodded, "Depends."

Olds grabbed the big weapon and pulled it smoothly over to him. He pointed at the breech, "See here, if you wield a solid coin onto the buffer behind the butt plate you give the bolt a shorter throw, you increase the fire of rate."

Sun scoffed, knowing that tinkering with the heavy bolter in such a manner could be considered tech-heresy. If caught, Olds would be sent to the Mechanicus and turned into a mindless servitor. Sun whistled uncertainly, but nodded all the same. He said, "I won't say a word, but if anyone asks I won't lie."

Olds nodded slowly and replied, "Fair enough. Let's get ready to go."

**::::**

The twelve Valkyries of Theta Company, along with flocks from Iota, Kappa, and Lamda companies, took off from the airbase and headed to their troop collection point. Sun had exchanged his sophisticated flight helmet of a gunners-issue headgear and wished he hadn't. Pilot's greymatter was considered significantly less valuable then gunners and the equipment quality corresponded.

His aviator's helmet had been equipped with the lasted technological advancements and ballistic protection. The door-gunners received helmets little better then the infantry - a heavy plasteel bowl with extra padding for the ears, a dropdown tinted visor to reduce glare, and an intercom hook-up at the rear.

Even the seats were less then desirable. Sun had gotten used to the highly protected, armor-plated enclosed environment of his cockpit, now his family jewels would be protected by nothing more than the canvas fold-down he was sitting on.

As the Beligarso 99th Aviation Regiment was an exception to the rule that all things that fly must be operated by the Navy, when they were created, the Sector Lord General had made certain concessions to the Sector Lord Admiral. Namely, they were not permitted to have any armed soldiers, only pilots and operational non-combatants such as flight-controllers and vox-operators. As such, all the doorgunners and crewchiefs were semi-permanent volunteers from the Beligarso 75th Air-Assault Regiment.

Sun had always respected the men in the doorway. Proud, hard men who knew their jobs and took no frak from anyone. He smiled at the memory of a one chiefcrew telling a site-seeing Lord General to _sit the frak down_. Under normal circumstance such talk would have gotten the enlisted man a long tour in the stockade at best, or up against the wall at worst - but once you came aboard, you answered to the crewchief. It was an unwritten rule, but everyone knew it, everyone respected it.

Sun watched the landscape rush past below at two thousand meters. He unconsciously played with his safety harness and listened to the pilots chat over the intercom. Olds kept himself quiet and alert. Twenty-two minutes passed and the craft banked down left and circled a large field. Sun saw hundreds of tents and thousands of soldiers. An Imperial army camping rough.

The intercom crackled, "Landing in three minutes. We're aiming for a quick turnaround. Get those PDF troopers on board and settled as quick as you can."

"Sir," Olds, as the aircraft's crewchief, did all the talking with the pilots. He looked at Sun and nodded. Sun nodded back and watched them circle to the ground.

Theta Eight landed lightly enough and Olds pushed the ramp button. The hold was washed with bright sunlight as the rear ramp yawed open. He pulled out his intercom cable and beckoned Sun to him. He shouted over the engines, "Get them settled in as quick as you can!"

"Aye, chief!"

They walked off the ramp and met a crowd of milling planetary defense force soldiers. They wore jungle pattern fatigues and carried autoguns. Ammo clips stuffed into canvas webbing around their chest and legs. On their heads were black helmets.

Olds waved over their sergeant and had a few words. Afterwards, the sergeant got his men moving and they clambered aboard. Sun assisted getting the men settled into their benches. As he went by each soldier, he moved their weapons so that the rifle barrels rested between their feet. Helped with lapbelts. He also pointed to the grab-straps behind their heads and gave each a thumbs-up and a light slap on the helmet before moving on.

They were a mixed lot. Some too old, most too young, their faces wore a dog-tired look and their eyes brimmed with anticipation fear. Their shoulders patches were simple things, blue rectangles with yellow tread spelling out, _PC- 17dv - PDF. _By the way they held their weapons and wore their kits, Sun guessed they must have been very recently recruited. Local fodder for the upcoming battle of Morgania, Sun thought cruelly. No, he corrected himself, not fodder, heroes. The Imperium had called and they had answered, willing or not, they had answered.

Once all twelve were settled he went back to his gun, plugged in, and stated to the pilot they were all loaded and ready. Olds plugged in and confirmed the same.

The engines rumbled idly for few a minutes and the pilot said, "Lift off in thirty."

Olds twirled his finger in the air and shouted down the hold, "Standby for lift off!" They took off quickly but smoothly. The PDFers were startled by the sudden movement. Many got animated and swore loudly. Two even tried to stand up in their surprise. They scattered their rifles. Olds yelled at their sergeant to control his men. The PDF NCO hurled abuse for ten minutes.

**::::**

Flight time to the landing zone was just over forty minutes and they'd be going in hot, the co-pilot told them. Sun stood up and folded out his heavy bolter. He pulled at the belt of ammo from the munitions box under the gun. He feed the first rounds into the chamber and wretched the action. "Loaded. Permission to test fire?" Sun asked.

"Granted," replied the co-pilot.

Sun aimed his heavy gun out the left hatch. He rolled his gun through the three angles of fire - _Back, Side, _and_ Front_. With Front being 0 degrees and Back being 180 degree, he chose to test fire at _Side-Back_, or about 125 degrees. Looking along the iron sights top the barrel, he squeezed the trigger. The weapon roared and spat half a dozen glowing rounds into the jungle below. He heard Olds test fire his weapon as well.

Sun looked over his shoulder at the chief. Olds looked back as well, they exchanged thumbs-up.

The shooting made the PDF levies nervous again, though this time they only muttered amongst themselves, fearful of their sergeant's wrath. Sun saw one young soldier pick up a shell casing and slip it into his pocket, a potential good luck charm.

When they were ten minutes out from the landing zone Olds came on the intercom and said to Sun, "When we land, keep an eye on the PDFers. Make sure they all exit quickly and don't do anything untowards."

"Untowards?"

"We've heard reports that Pirotta PDF has been infiltrated by the Unfaithful. Yesterday, two of our birds came under attack from troops they were supposed to be dropping off."

"Right," Sun said and looked suspiciously down into the hold. He thought, was the third guy from the end looking unusually _shifty_? Or was he just going to vomit?

The landing zone had once been a large crop field and now it was an Imperial combat zone. It was awash with smoke and craters, Vulture gunships had given it and the surrounding area a fearsome pounding for the better part of an hour. Coming in hard and fast the Valkyrie vibrated fearsomely and only the blazing white tracers coming from the ground showed where the enemy was.

Olds shouted, "Go hot! Light 'em up!"

Sun angled his gun _Forward-Side_ and pulled the trigger. He waved the weapon's lethal spray at the fast approaching tree line. That little trick with the Imperial Crown really hopped up the heavy's rate of fire. The big gun threw red-hot bolter rounds into the foliage. They disappeared into the vast greenness and it was impossible to tell what damage was done, but it was no doubt significant. Brass shell casings spat out continuously from the breech. The floor was quickly littered with hundreds of steaming hot shells.

With Sun's gun being mounted on the left side of the aircraft, and the breech being on the right-hand side of the weapon, when Sun fired in the _Side-Side_ to _Forward-Forward_ directions, the casing spat into the forward bulkhead which separated the pilots from the cargo hold, and ricocheted off and into the Sun. One got down his tunic top, but was it stopped by his body armor. He felt it burning the flesh at his neck. All he could do was grit his teeth, smell his burning flesh, and keep firing.

At twenty meters the rear ramp went down, timed to be completely open when they hit the ground.

At ten meters the Valkyrie flared, the nose rising up to kill the craft's forward momentum.

At three meters the gunners stopped firing.

_Thump_ and down.

Olds waved for the PDF soldiers to get out, "Disembark!" he roared. Sun noticed he had his laspistol out and armed. Sun placed his hand on his own laspistol and watched the PDF troopers stampede off the craft. Once the last soldiers were off Olds yelled, "Clear, clear, clear!"

The engines screamed and Theta Eight rocketed forwards. The moment they began to move Sun was back on his door-gun, spraying short burst at into the jungle. Once at a thousand meters, he let go of the gun and desperately tore at the shell that had gotten into his tunic. It would leave a small rectangular burn-scar just below his left collar bone.

He made to throw it out the hatch, but thought of the young PDFer and instead tucked it into his pocket. After clearing the landing zone airspace, Olds opened the ramp and Tutarc angled Theta Eight skywards for a brief moment. Over seven hundred brass shell casing cascaded out and glittered their way to the jungle below.

They made three more trips to the PDF base camp, collecting squads of soldiers and ferrying them to the previous landing zone. By the time they made their second trip it been secured and though they stood at the guns, neither doorman fired a shot. Sun saw Vultures, both Imperial and avian, hovering on the outskirts of the landing zone, bidding their time, waiting to be called into action.

Each time they were about to land Olds would pull out his laspistol and keep his arm half raised. Sun would sit on his fold-down, laspistol in hand, safety off, eyes suspicious.

It was on their final run for of the day when something untowards happened.

As they hit the ground the soldiers started to disembark but suddenly they stopped and milled around confused, half on the ramp, half off. Their sergeant yelled at them. There was shoving. An autogun went off nearby. All the soldiers ducked their heads in unison.

"Get out!" Olds yelled at them, waving his hand, "Get out, get out!"

Several troopers tried to push their way past the PDF sergeant and back into the Valkyrie. The autogun sounded again and a few perfectly round holes appeared in the side panels.

Seeing the rushing PDF soldiers attempting to regain entry and bullets holes suddenly appearing, Sun dropped to a knee, raised his laspistol and shot into the press. Olds did the same. Complete chaos erupted in the hold.

One soldier shoved the sergeant aside and turned his autogun on the two Beligarso men. Sun hit him with two energy bolts, Olds hit him with three. Sun gripped his las with both hands and sighted down barrel, turning to the next target. The PDF sergeant lost most of his head. The rest fled as quickly as they could, las-bolts chasing them from the ramp.

The two Beligarso men did not have it all their own way. A hail of bullets ripped into the Valkyrie and they hastily threw themselves to the floor. Sun rolled and peeked out of the left-hatch. He saw a group of soldiers sheltering alongside the aircraft and he fired his las at their backs. He hit one in the neck and another in the shoulder.

They spun around and made to return fire and Sun ducked back in. Dropping his pistol, he made to grab his heavy bolter but the aircraft lurched suddenly into the air, throwing him back to the floor. The ground rushed away as the ramp snapped shut.

The pilot screamed to know what was going on.

Olds said, "I don't know. I think we were about to infiltrated!"

Sun unplugged and unclipped his safely harness and stumbled over to the bodies. There were four of them. He didn't remember seeing them all fall.

The near headless sergeant, he did remember. It was a near perfect kill-shot and he was proud to have killed a hated Foe in such a manner. He also remembered the trooper shot by both of them. The third was killed by Olds's laspistol. The last was laying face down. His back was a mess of autogun wounds. Sun rolled him over. He had a grenade in his hand.

That made Sun flinch back.

He waved Olds over. The chief took one look at the grenade and gently pulled it from the dead man's hand. He carried it over the side door and casually tossed it out.

**::::**

When they landed back at the Beligarso forward airbase they were ordered to land at the far end of the field. Beside a solid black Valkyrie was a squad of fully armed air-assault troopers from the 75th and Commissar Cave. He looked decidedly unhappy.

The troopers pulled the corpses out Theta Eight and carried them into Cave's personal matte-black commissariat Valkyrie, while he interviewed Sun and Olds and the two pilots. The commissar said almost nothing as he took careful notes. Finally, after lengthy private meetings he dismissed them back to the billets.

Sun found out later through the regiment gossip train - from a groundie who had heard it from a vox-op pal of his, who had heard if from his medic orderly friend, who had shared a smoke break with two of the assistant doctors working with the doctor who _actually_ conducted the autopsies - that three of the troopers had chaos marks on their bodies; cruel brands, bizarre piercings, and eye-hurting tattoos.

The PDF sergeant however, was seemingly clear of any taint.

Sun swore quietly and spent most of the night talking to the regiment's chaplain.


	8. Haulier

**Chapter VII**

**Haulier**

**::::**

"_When failure is not an option, success gets Ugly_."  
-Ugly Squadron's Motto

**::::**

"That's not how you do it," grumbled a voice.

"Please, don't do this. It's cruel," replied another voice.

"Get out of the way," demanded the first voice.

"Please, I beg you, don't …" whined the second voice.

"I'll show you how it's done," the first voice growled, then loud as a cannon shot the voiced bellowed, "Captain Jonah, at attention!"

Jonah snapped his eyes open and he frantically looked around. Above him hovered the grinning face of Commander Odavos. Jonah saw his reflection in Odavos's looming aviator shades. He looked terrible. Black rings rimmed his blood shot eyes. His face was gaunt and thin, his hair was a mass of greasy dark spikes. It was the look of terminal illness.

He opened his mouth to speak and felt the thickness of his tongue. He gurgled out a few sounds and Odavos's head moved away. He heard his commander say, "See, I should have been a doctor!"

Jonah lolled his head sideways and saw Odavos and a man wearing blue medical coveralls and holding a data-slate. The medic looked highly unimpressed and said so, "Commander, if you're quite finished abusing my patient and your soldier, I'd very much like to run some tests."

"Have it your way, doc," Odavos smirked.

The medic pushed past the grinning aviator and bent over Jonah. He lifted one of his eyelids, looked closely.

Jonah's thick-mouthed out a few syllables.

"Try not to speak you've been seriously injured. You need to rest," the doctor said.

Jonah tried again. This time managing to get out, "… sssss … unnn."

The medic looked back at the commander who frowned at Jonah. The commander leaned forward, patted him gentle on the stomach and said, "You rest now Ignis, we'll talk when you're better."

**::::**

The days, weeks, went by in a haze of sleep-inducing and pain-retarding drugs. Jonah hardly knew where he was, and if hadn't been for the smell of the antiseptic cream and cries of the injured, he could have easily missed the fact that he was in an Imperial Guard hospital.

He woke lucid one morning. Though mentally awake, his body was a temple to pain. Dull aches raced across his abdomen and back, and sharp pains zapped down his legs and spine. His head thumped dully with each heartbeat. He raised an arm feebly, waving it about and moaning through the thick paste in his mouth.

After what seemed an age, a man in blue walked up to him. The medic took up a data-slate hooked to the foot of his bed and read it over quickly. He looked at Jonah and asked, "Captain, how are we today?"

Jonah rasped, "… wa ... ter."

The medic left and returned with a cup and straw, he held it to Jonah's lips and ordered him to drink. Jonah sipped slowly, it took a monumental effort to get the fluid up the short straw and into his mouth. He drank the cup empty, the medic patiently waiting for him to finish.

When he was finished he rasped "Where … am I?"

"Pirotta City," the medic looked around, "It's an old university building, I think. Navy medical teams have taken it over for the duration of the re-conquest. It's now the main medicae site on the planet."

He rasped again, "What's … wrong … with me?"

"Record says you crashed. Broke both your legs, left one in three places, right one in four. Also you crushed four vertebrae."

"Damn …" he muttered, "am I going … to make ... it?"

The medic smiled, "Don't worry, you're all patched up now. The bone-saws did a real number on you, though. You've brand new metal leg bones and some shiny ceramic disks for your back. You've got enough scars to impress any lady. You're in post-op recovery."

Jonah looked confused, he whispered, "How long … have I … been 'ere?"

The medic set the cup down and picked up the data-slate again, "Says here, nearly three weeks."

Jonah felt himself be nudged and opened his eyes. There was his commander, as well as some of his other comrades. Wind, Pegoud and Madon.

"What?" Jonah muttered, not in the mood to talk.

Pegoud laughed and said, "Puke-me Ignis, you look awful."

"You're no butterfly yourself," he retorted and gave her his best frown.

Madon, blond and beautiful, slapped his foot gently, "Play nice, you two."

Odavos coughed loudly and the others looked at him. He said, "Ignis, we've got some bad news. It's about Balor. We need to talk."

Jonah licked his dry lips and closed his eyes, they already becoming wet, knowing what was to come.

"Ig," Odavos said solemnly, "I'm sorry, but he brought you flowers."

Jonah opened his eyes, "What?" he said, confused and in pain.

Odavos waved his hand at the cot next to Jonah, on it sat Sun, holding some flowers. "I think he wants to marry you," Odavos said.

Sun passed Jonah the flowers.

"Oh Balor, I don't think now is really time or place for that sort of thing," Jonah said, his lips trembling. He eyes were wet with tears. For a moment he thought Balor had died.

After half an hour of chat most of the aviators left the hospital, leaving only Sun. The two talked and joked. Sun caught up Jonah on what had happened in the war in the last few weeks. After the Cex's secured the high ground over the River Emsis the Foe started to fall back across the rainforest plateau to the planet's capital city, Morgania.

General Draco ordered several Imperial Guard units, including some newly arrived on-planet, to box in a large group of fleeing traitors. The Navy fast movers and the Beligarso gunships set to work demolishing them. Recently raised PDF levies had been sent to the hold supply lines and chokepoints. The General was now positioning his assets for an assault on the hive-city capital. Brutal work lay ahead.

Sun asked, "Do you remember a Colonel Sikney?"

Jonah shook his head, "No, who is he?"

"You remember, don't you? He was that crazy colonel of the 20th Aero-Rifles. Ulaxer Basin? "

"Oh yeah … scrappy little fella, right? Mad as a hatter, they say. What's the story … he and the Rifles somehow single-handedly held the Basin for … some twenty odd weeks?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"Sure, I remember him. Why do you ask?"

"He's here," Sun said.

"I didn't know another regiment of 'Garsos were here," Jonah said in genuine surprise.

"No, no. He was shipped off world, years ago. Some big scandal. He arrived here with a regiment of skinny, feral looking agri-boys."

Jonah nodded. All this chat of war updates and other regiments was simply him stalling from asking the question he was reluctant to ask. "So," he cleared his throat, "what happened? Last thing I remember was the bell tower trying to kill us."

"They managed to hit the port rocket pod. You dropped it, but it exploded," Sun was not the greatest of storytellers, his retelling was a simply matter of listing the facts. "It took out the port-vector vents. Then we had a vector-spin session until I somehow managed to get us upright. I tried to eject us, but the seats didn't blow. You looked dead to me, so I jumped out."

Sun went on to explain how he pulled the ejection loops behind his head. There was a cracking sound as the canopies blew off. However, the seats did not eject. After a moment of confusion and terror Sun rapidly tore at this safety harness, popping the locks quickly. He stood up on his seat, glanced back at Jonah, seeing the pilot's head flopping limply, he threw himself out of the cockpit.

He fell and crashed through the jungle canopy. Then there was blackness.

He awoke near the bottom of a tree, hanging upside down and hurting. After reaching the ground he examined himself. He felt dizzy and nauseous, and speculated he had a concussion. His legs felt fine, as did his back. His left forearm hurt badly, and knew from previous experience that it was broken. With a grimace he slung it through the webbing on his survival vest. That was the best he could do for now.

Taking stock, he noted that still strapped to his vest was his laspistol and combat knife, but not his survival radio. It must have been torn off during his fall. Training taught him priorities – protection, location, water, food. Then, only after that should he look for a means to communicate with his own.

He tried to remember the directed they were headed, and hiked the opposite way.

After an hour or so, he climbed over a fallen tree and looked at up at the nose of _Sunfire_. It was smashed nose first into the dirt, the wings were bent at impossible angles. The tail frame had snapped off. However, the craft had not exploded or caught fire, and he calculated if he moved quick enough he could grab his ditch-bag. Not wanting risk any explosions, the first thing he did was force the manual evacuation value and ejected what fuel was left in the tank. With a slap and gurgle the tank emptied itself onto the jungle floor. The pungent smell of promethium overwhelmed Sun.

He went round to the cockpit, climbed up into the front seat. He grabbed his ditchbag and glanced at the back-seat. Jonah still strapped into the seat. Sun sighed and climbed over to him. He made the sign of the Aquila over his pale face and pulled Jonah's survival radio off his vest. To his great surprise the pilot moaned. Jonah was alive, barely, but still alive. Sun voxed for help.

After Sun had finished his tale Jonah held up his hands and said, "Wait, wait wait … you're telling me you jumped? _Jumped_ from a moving, or rather _crashing_, aircraft?"

"Yes," Sun replied.

"Damn, Balor. You've got a bigger pair then I thought."

**::::**

Jonah spent more and more time awake, watching the ward around him. He glanced over and saw a new face in the cot beside him. A dark-skinned Cex. He was awake and staring at the ceiling. Jonah coughed and whispered across the aisle, "Hey, hey … what you in for?"

The Cex slowly looked over, then raised his far arm. There was nothing below the elbow.

Jonah tried not to stare, but he could not help himself.

"You think that's bad," the Cex replied. He used his good hand to pull the sheets aside and he raised his far leg. There was nothing below the thigh.

Jonah's mouth fell open.

The Cex grinned at him, "Sorry didn't mean to show off."

Jonah could not help but smile at him. The man's resolve was a thing of wonders.

"What's your name?" Jonah asked.

"Uzoh. What's your damage?"

"Jonah," he said, introducing himself, "Some broken legs. Crushed spine. No biggy, really, I'm post-op."

"Well met, brother." The Cex stuck his out hand to Jonah.

Jonah took it and shook it was firmly as his could. "What's your prognosis?"

Uzoh stared at him, he had an intensity about him that was unnerving. "I should be shipping to the fleet soon. Thereafter, I hope to get bionics. Should be back in the fight in a year's time."

"Hope?"

Uzoh nodded, "They don't come cheap. I hear the cost is charged back to the home planet of the patient. Cex's might be a rich world, but my family doesn't have much … so they're only given to the most worthy, eh. I hope my record is enough to secure me replacement limbs."

"If not," Jonah asked, his brow furrowed.

Uzoh just stared at him for a long time. A small, tiny tear rolled down his cheek and he turned to face the ceiling.

**::::**

Dozing on and off Jonah was having a hard time staying awake in the mid-day heat. He could smell the jungle from a nearby window. The smell of sun-warmed earth and plants brought a smile to his face. The smell made him think of his family's summer cottage in the Imate Forest, the bright colored flowers, the buzz of the stick-bees polluting, the constant trickle of the little nameless stream that ran by the house. The overwhelming smell of lubricant and machine oil. No, wait. That's not right.

Jonah opened his eyes and he startled. Enginseer Iso lurked above him.

"Iso, you bastard, you gave me fright!" Jonah exclaimed, holding a hand to his heart.

The tech-priest was big and bulky. The great servo-arm attached to his back was folded neatly against his spine, but he was still larger than most men. His tattered robes were the rust-red of his belief. The hood was still up and three glowing green light-eyes stared at Jonah.

The Enginseer lifted a data-slate and examined it. After a moment he spoke in a deep monotone, "Social protocol dictates that I should review your damaged form and outload words of comfort."

Jonah gave a quick glance at Uzoh in the next cot over. The Cex was smirking and just shrugged.

"A'right, Iso. Thanks. I think. Have you come for a chat?" Jonah asked.

Iso looked at the slate again, "Positive."

"Eh, right. Have a seat," Jonah said and nodded to the empty coat to the right. Iso looked at the bed, then back to Jonah and monotoned at him, "Would sitting indicate my desire to see a marked improvement in your operational functions?"

"Get well soon?" Jonah asked.

"Positive."

"Yes, I suppose it would."

Iso lowered his bulk onto the medicae-cot, which groaned under his great weight.

"How's _Sunfire_?" Jonah asked after awhile.

"The craft is still unrecovered."

"Throne …"

"The General has outloaded his requirements for maximum crafts to be operational in a minimum time frame. Heavy lifters are being brought in from orbit within a minimum number of planetary cycles. We estimate, 76.67 percent chance, the craft will be recovered within four planetary cycles."

"Do you know how bad the damage was?"

"Preliminary investigations indicate not a total loss."

"What?"

"The craft may be recoverable and restorable to some degree."

"That's good news at least."

"Positive. The craft was forged on Holy Mars, as such, is regarded as an item of special significances to us. Ergo, all effort will be made to restore it to prime operating condition."

"_Sunfire_ will fly again!" Jonah punched the air, "That's great news! Do you know when?"

"Negative. Without further evaluation and diagnostics it is impossible to indicate when the craft will be operational."

"Oh come on, take a guess."

Iso titled his head slightly, as if offended, "I do not guess, captain."

"Alright then, don't get your iron panties in a twist," Jonah said. "Could you at least take a guesstimate, estimate, or some sort of time-frame, calibration, calculation, matrix-computation, thingy?"

Iso sat in silence, his three unblinking light-eyes staring at Jonah. There was slight _verring_ sound from within Iso robes as the machine-man processed information. "I am required elsewhere," Iso monotoned and then stood quickly. Jonah guessed he had known he was being mocked. He made to apologize, but Iso turned and left with surprising speed.

Once Iso had left Jonah looked at Uzoh and raised an eyebrow. The Cex said with mock seriousness, "Well … that was _awkward_."

Jonah laughed until his guts hurt.

It was late in the morning when orderlies came to take Uzoh away. The Beligarso and the Cex, men literally from worlds apart, shook hands and exchanged tokens. Uzoh gave Jonah a regimental cap badge; circular and made of black metal, its icon was a C superimposed over an X.

Jonah returned the favor by giving him the sunflower shoulder patch of the 99th. He also gave him a data-slate. The Cex took it and read through it. He locked eyes with Jonah and frowned deeply. The scowl never left his face as he was wheeled away.

Jonah just smiled back and offered him a sloppy salute.

**::::**

As a show of the impressive medical know-how for the Imperium, after only four weeks in the hospital and a further four on light duties, Jonah had recovered from major spine and leg surgery and was pronounced fit to fly. However, without a craft to call his own Jonah was sent to active reserves. Not good enough for Odavos, who was keen to get Jonah flying as quickly as possible. He called in a favor from Commander Spony, chief of the regiment's transport squadrons.

Odavos managed to get Jonah a temporary post piloting Arvus Lighters. It was dull work with long hours, but Jonah was glad for it. It beat working in the control room bringing vox-operators cups of caffeine and running order-cyphers or worse, hauling munitions with the groundies in the melting heat.

Dressed in his dark green flight suit and survival vest for the first time in over two months Jonah looked at himself in the mirror. "I look alright," he said to himself. He pulled his cheek down to look closely at his eye, "A little pale and thin, but alright."

Rotating his shoulders he looked at the newly sewn patches. On one shoulder was the shield-shaped, spread wing, raptor-bird icon of the 99th and on the other, a black circular patch with a large yellow flower at its center, the words '_Beligarso Ave Imperator Immotalis'_ wrapped around the fringes of the flower. Those were the symbols and motto of the planet of Beligarso. He checked that his revolver was loaded, that his knife was clean, and that his survival radio was fully charged. He straightened his captain's pin on his collar, ran his hand through his dark hair and nodded to himself in the mirror.

"I'm alright," he said to himself again.

Taking up his helmet he kissed the double-headed eagle on its brow and walked from the ready rooms at Pirotta City aeroport. He stepped out onto the tarmac and the heat of the day swept over him. Hot and moist. He slipped on his aviator glare-shades and looked at the nearby motorcab waiting to drive him. He glanced at his chrono and told the driver he wanted to walk.

It was half a mile over the hot, gray rockcrete, with only the thump of his boots and the dull arch in his back keeping him company. He always liked walking to the flight line. He felt like a warrior walking a rite of passage, or, a disciple on a pilgrimage to his temple.

At one point he stopped and stood for a long moment, watching a flight of Valkyries take off, bank up-left and power climb away. He knew Sun was on a Valkyrie somewhere, maybe even one of the ones that had just taken off, pulling duty as a doorgunner.

He walked on.

Since the arrival of the Imperial Guard large sections of the aeroport was given over to the orbital transport crafts. Dozens of huge, gaped-mawed, beetle-like bulk landers took up vast sections. Their bulk created large shadows where Munitorum staff hid from the hot glare of the sun. Further along the aeroport were the more modestly sized Arvus light haulers. Some were the dark green of Beligarso others the matte-gray of Battlefleet Obscurus.

He spotted a nest of vox antennae and satellite array, and below them he found the operations pod. He ducked inside and pulled off his shades. It was roasting in the pod. In one corner a rattling, poorly kept air-cooler machine attempted fruitlessly to decrease the temperature.

Jonah walked up to the desk clerk and announced himself. "Captain Jonah, reporting as order."

The clerk barely looked up and pointed him to an officer further into the pod. Jonah received his assignment from an unhappy looking Beligarso lieutenant stuck in an oven-like backroom. The man's shirt was complete soaked with sweat and his eyes showed no pleasure in his assigned task. He hardy said a word as he passed Jonah the assignment slate. Jonah shrugged and walked out of pod.

Using the slate he located his assigned craft. On the side of the craft was a print of an animal's hoof. He ran his hand over the words _Hoof Hopper V_ stenciled underneath it.

His love of flying stemmed directly from the very craft below his hand. He had grown up flying Arvus lighters for his father's and uncle's orbital haulage firm back on Beligarso. It had been over twenty years since he had last flown an Arvus - barrel-shaped, hardy, and simple to pilot - but Jonah know he'd remember quickly enough.

Jonah walked around the craft to the lowered rear ramp and looked into the cargo hold. Prepping the craft was a tall, skinny, red-haired young man. He wore the dull grey uniform of an Obscurus navyman. The man saw Jonah, stopped what he was doing and quickly saluted, "Acting Pretty Officer Third Class Twivley, sir. Acting loadmaster."

"Jonah," he tossed an easy salute back and asked, "We ready to go?"

"Yes, sir. All prepped."

"Right, Mr. Twivley, let's do this."

Their assignment called for them the fly to Drang, a small town about an hour east of Pirotta City. There, they were to pick up 'food stocks' for immediate delivery to the navy vessel _Meta Agito_ in orbit. Other then communication codes and call signs, there was no other information.

Jonah came at the town at seven-fifty meters and had a quick vox exchange, "Drang control. Hoof Hopper Five. On op coded – six-six-seven. Further details requested."

The local flight controller replied, "Hoof Hopper Five, on six-six-seven, there is a field two klicks north of the town. Follow the main road until you see cargo haulers. That should is your spot."

"Got it. Out."

Jonah flow north and spotted a cargo-6 waiting on the gravel beside the field, the drivers standing around smokes and gabbing. One waved to the craft.

Jonah set down in the field near the hauler and lowered the rear ramp. He powered down the lighter and from the cockpit watched Twivley run over to the men. After a quick exchange one man got back into the cargo-6 and drove it behind the Arvus. The other man walked with Twivley back to the craft.

Jonah was pulling on his astrosuit when a lot of noise started coming from the cargo hold. Banging and thumping. That's far too much noise to be anything good, thought Jonah. He buckled up his bulky suit and climbed through the cramped cockpit to the hatch leading to the hold. Opening it he looked into the hold.

"Ahhh, frak me!" he yelled and flapped his arms in frustration.

Twivley and the two cargo-6 men were hauling bundled swine up the ramp and into the hold. The swine were covered in black bristly hairs and were fat and heavy. They had their legs bound with ropes and their snouts wrapped in clothes. They writhed, bucked, and squealed as the three men man-handled them.

"No, no, no, no!" Jonah shouted at them and waddled through the hold, waving his finger. "I don't think so!"

"Eh, pal?" said one of the cargomen.

"Swine? Swine! We're not hauling live beasts in an orbital shuttle."

"Yeah, you is," the big cargoman said assuredly. Once he put down the swine, he reached into his filthy coveralls and pulled a yellow manifesto sheet. He gave it to Jonah and went back to the cargo-6 to get another swine. Twivley watched Jonah, cautiously waiting.

After reading the sheet Jonah said begrudgingly, "Go with him, Petty."

**::::**

The dozen fat-bodied swine seemed to calm down after they were all loaded. Their musky scent reassuring each other. However, once the engines were fired up and the Arvus was airborne the swine quickly became agitated and started thrashing around. Jonah grumbled at the sound of thumping and banging from the hold, he could hear Twivley yelling and pleading with the beasts to stay calm.

Jonah had mistakenly left the hatch to the hold open and he swore aloud when an unbelievable stink welled up as the swine emptied their significant bowels and bladders in terror.

"Twivley! Twivley, close the hatch!" he shouted.

Jonah saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over. Much to his disbelief he saw young Twivley actually riding on the back of a swine. The creature had somehow managed to get its front legs free and thrashed the cloth off its snout. It squealed loudly and crawled forward into the cockpit on its front two trotters, Twivley attempted to wrestle the beast to the ground.

Jonah took one look at the swine and shook his head in anger. "Frak this," he muttered and reached under his left arm and pulled out his .44 Magnus.

"Twivley!" he shouted.

The young petty officer looked up, saw the aimed revolver, and hastily threw himself backwards. Jonah pulled the trigger. The fat-barreled handcannon roared and blow the swine's head apart. After a moment, Twivley's red-haired head popped through the hatch, "Gak me!" he shouted staring at the headless swine and the huge, steaming, splatter of blood.

Jonah holstered the revolver and shouted, "Get that out of here!" Twivley grabbed the back legs and pulled the carcass into the hold.

Jonah shouted again, "Mr. Twivley!" The petty officer stepped back into the cockpit, slipped and stumbled on the blood, recovered, and looked at Jonah. "Shoot the rest of them," he said.

"Sir," the navyman nodded and pulled the las-carbine off the wall mounted weapon rack beside the hatch. He slipped his way back into the hold. Jonah heard the snap-crack of las fire and saw the flash of weapon discharge reflected on the cockpits therma-glass canopy.

Twivley had opened the rear ramp a few meters to help air out the Arvus, but as they climbed above four thousand meters, the craft had to be atmospherically sealed. The stink became too much for Twivley and he squeezed himself into the cockpit with Jonah. It was against regulations, but the pilot did not have the heart to object. The navyman sat with his back to the air-tight hatch door, knees pulled to his ears, his bottom in a pool of pig's blood.

As they circled up and out of the atmosphere the sky slowly turned from sky blue to space black and once they breached the atmosphere completely, silence descended. Twivley hadn't anticipated the lack of gravity and started to float. After a brief struggle he managed to wedge himself into a corner, arms and legs splayed out. The heater panel above the hatch turned on automatically, blowing out hot, dry air. The hatch had kept most of the swine stink out but when the air recyclers kicked in they blew the smell of swine waste back into the cockpit. The two men gagged and Jonah pulled on the craft's astrosuit helmet - it did provide cleaner air through its own air recycler. Twivley head left his suit and helmet in the hold and refused to get them. He tired to breathe through his mouth for duration of the two hour flight.

Jonah exchanged codes with a craft controller aboard a kilometers-long Navy cruiser and was beamed telemetric data. The little cogitator on his console lit up, showing Jonah the flight path he was to follow. Guided by the blinking light on the screen Jonah cruised the space lanes until he saw the huge _Meta Agito_.

Not the same transport the two Beligarso regiments had arrived in, it was nonetheless equally huge. Jonah had forgotten about the sheer size of space-borne vessels. The _Meta Agito_ was a vast rectangle, at least ten kilometers long, two wide and three tall. The volume within the spaceship was equal to a large city, over sixty square kilometers. Though in actuality it was less than half that, after accounting for all the machinery, bulkheads, life-support systems and huge warp-drives required to make it space worthy.

Jonah was ordered to docking bay five and he hovered the Arvus through the huge gaping maw of a landing bay. The force fields framing the passage way zapped and sparked as he passed through. The field separated the ship from the void, keeping the dock safe and habitable. That technology was beyond anything the Imperium could create, a relic of a bygone time.

Once through, Jonah rotated the craft one-hundred-and-eighty degrees and landed smoothly. He pulled off his helmet and powered down the craft. Twivley stood up and stretched. He made to open the cargo hatch when Jonah warned, "I wouldn't open that. Let's leave through the forward hatch." He tapped a button on his console and the cockpit glass in front of them swung up and away.

The docking bay was a vast, cavernous space of dull grey metal, harsh sodium-white light, and oily black shadows amongst the rafters. It was a busy place. All around them was noise and motion, sirens and blinking lights. Dozens of navy ratings in dirty brown coveralls scuttled about. Senior deck-hands and junior petty officers operated heavy machinery and Sentinel powerlifters.

A low-ranking navy officer in a smart grey uniform and with a large data-slate walked up to the Jonah, he glared hostilely. Jonah doubted the midshipman knew he was a Beligarso aviator, but the Navy was supremely protective of their position as lords of anything that fly, and most had nothing more than generations of inbred contempt for civilian and non-navy fliers alike. It showed in the officer's eyes.

"Hoof Hopper V, on op six-six-seven" Jonah said before the midshipman could ask.

The navy officer just snorted and made a note on his data-pad. He waved a hand at a clutch of nearby ratings and directed them to the Arvus's ramp. The ratings were a virtual slave class aboard Imperial Navy vessels. Usually press-ganged civilians or convict-conscripts, the ratings did a great deal of the hard, brutal labor required by the massive starships.

As everyone gathered around the rear of the Arvus, foreseeing what was to come, Jonah casually took a few steps backwards. Twivley opened a panel at the rear of the craft and pulled the lever within. The ramp slowly slid open. The ratings moved towards the ramp, ready to unload wares.

As the ramp touched the deck, one shaven-headed rating put his boot on the ramp and felt something strange. He lifted his boot and saw red/brown fluid stuck to the boot.

Then the smell drifted out. The scent of musky swine and las-cooked bacon, mixed with warm piss, blood and feces. Some of ratings vomited, others backed away in disgust. The midshipman turned green and quickly raced away, to be sick behind a bin.

Without gravity, the dead swine had drifted and bumped into each other, and with the adequate heaters keeping the hold warm, their blood and waste had stayed in liquid form and drifted. With the reintroduction of artificial gravity onboard the _Meta Agito_ the waste fluids splashed down, covering the entirety of the hold.


	9. Oh Kind Youth, They be the Glory Days

**Chapter VIII**

**Oh Kind Youth, You Be The Glory Days**

**::::**

"_Sure, _Navy_ pilots are interested in aviation … it's just most Stiffies don't have the balls to try it."_  
- I.A. Jonah, drunkenly explaining the difference between crooked-wing pilots and fix-wing pilots

**::::**

Jonah received a fearsome dress down for a Navy supply officer. The man accused Jonah of failing to do his duty, delivering live swine for the ship's animal stores, and threaten to have him severely punished. Jonah replied that nowhere in his dispatch orders was the word "live." He was right. The dispatch simply stated, 'commodity for immediate shipment to the _Meta Agito'_, swine were not even mentioned, let alone their state upon arrival.

The supply officer fumed and roared, bellowing that Jonah received live animals and he should have delivered live animals, as he damn well knew. Jonah replied, orders are orders and they aren't open to interpretations or assertions.

When the ship's commissar was brought into the conversation Jonah got very nervous. Jonah feared all black-clad political officers. This one was a particularly grim specimen with a bionic eye, its unblinking red orb saw everything. The commissar listened to the Navy officer. Then he listened to Jonah. Then he made his decision.

He told the Navy man to forget it and return to his duties.

Once the fuming officer had left, the commissar said, "Captain, walk with me."

The commissar turned and marched off, Jonah frowned nervously and followed, two silent armsmen flanked him.

After more than thirty minutes of walking through a maze of back tunnels and passageways the commissar suddenly stopped and looked at the metal ceiling above him. Jonah waited anxiously for the man to say something. He suddenly felt very alone.

The commissar did not speak, instead he searched the ceiling, trying to find a particular quote among the hundreds of verses scrolled into the bulkhead and metal plates. After a long silence the commissar finally said, "Captain, come over here and read the verse on the ceiling."

Jonah swallowed and stepped up to the commissar. He craned his head back and looked at the scrimshaw writing on the ceiling. He cleared his throat, "_Glory built upon selfishness is shame and guilt_," he said, "_Glory built upon selflessness is honor and pride_."

"Again," the commissar grunt.

"Glory built upon selfishness …" Jonah did not see the powerful punch to his stomach. With an explosive cough of air leaving his lungs, he was launched into the bulkhead. The commissar was on him in a second. The big man punched him three more, and Jonah collapsed to the deck, sputtering and whizzing. The commissar took a moment to kick him hard in the face, splitting open his lip. The two armsmen snickered.

The political officer squatted down and grabbed Jonah's hair, pulling his head up. The glowing red orb of the bionic eye bore into Jonah. "You have wasted my time, Captain. You have wasted the time of my supply officer. Of my deck chief, my unwashed deckhands. You have wasted the time of the very God-Emperor himself with your selfish act of stupidity. Never," the commissar jerked Jonah's head higher still, "_never_, let it happen again."

He let go of Jonah's head and his bleeding face slapped the metal deck hard. The commissar stood up, dusted down his long stormcoat and said, "What do you say now?"

Jonah muttered something.

"I can't hear you, Captain. Don't make me come down there."

Jonah gritted his teeth and yelled as loud as he could, "Yes, sir!"

The commissar sniffed loudly and said, "The road forks here Captain and you have two options. Firstly, we have the official route. I begin an official investigation in the reckless destruction of an Imperial food shipment. You will be arrested and taken to the brig for the duration. Or secondly, my men kick the frak out of you for a count of ten. Then we never speak of this matter again."

Jonah pushed himself to his knees. He glared up at the Commissar and said, "Second option, sir, if you'd be so kind."

Jonah did not see the rifle butt that smacked him across the head. After ten seconds of kicking, punching and stomping the commissar and the two armsmen departed, leaving Jonah to lie in the gangway, beaten and humiliated.

**::::**

Jonah heeded the warning. Two weeks he flew the lighter between the surface of Morgan's World and Imperial fleet in orbit, or between navy vessels. It wasn't very exciting, and he spent a great deal of his time waiting around for other people load/unload the craft or watching Twivley run around hopelessly trying to get things in order.

He managed to avoid trouble until trouble found him. Trouble's name was Hans Wind. The fellow Beligarso pilot surprised Jonah by appearing suddenly beside the Arvus, arms crossed and smirking.

"Puke on me! What are you doing here?" Jonah bellowed, clapping his hands together.

"Just passing through, the _Mouth_ is up for repairs. _Again_. So I thought I would sneak a peek to see if you wanted to get a drink," Wind said.

Hans Wind was tall and handsome with dark hair and a slight hardness to his bright eyes. He looked every inch the dashing aviator, down to the non-issue leather jacket he insisted on wearing. He had been a model for various Guard recruitment posters back on Beligarso, much to the cruel delight of the other pilots when they first found out.

"Get a drink, Hans …" Jonah started, wary of trouble. Then thought about it for moment, "Yeah. Frak yeah, actually. Twivley," he called out.

"Sir?" his red head popped out the hold.

"This is Wind, fancy getting a drink with us?"

"Sir?" Twivley look confused, then pleased at the offer, "Oh, yes, please."

"Excuse me, sirs," Twivley said, "I'm not an officer, I can't go in there."

Jonah looked at the sign above the hatch, _7 Deck – 87a –_ _Navy_ _Officer's Canteen –_ he looked at Wind, who just shrugged indifferently.

"Right," Jonah said, "Just, eh, walk between us … I'm sure no one will notice."

"And hold your nose in the air a little, like you just smelt something bad, that's how Navy officers act," Wind said helpfully. Twivley frowned at the handsome, arrogant aviator. The slight was against the Navy officer class, but in effect it was slight against the entire Navy. The Beligarso seemed unaware that Twivley himself was of Navy stock and blood – proud of the six generations of Twivelys that had come before him.

They entered the canteen through a sliding hatch door. The air was thick with of tabac-smoke, though even that couldn't cover up the lingering smell of body odor and bleach. Two ever present scents aboard all Imperial spacecraft.

Wind nudged Jonah to an empty booth. They slid in and looked at each other knowingly.

"I'll go," Twivley suddenly offered. He rushed up to get the first round.

Jonah shook his head in bemusement, "God-Emperor's Speed."

Wind nodded to Twivley as the red-haired navyman made his way to the bar. "Not the shiniest shell in the bolter, eh?"

"No," Jonah said, "but he's a good kid."

"He want to fly?"

"Yes, but he'll never make it."

"Poor puke," Wind said, then suddenly looked closely at Jonah. "What happened to your face?"

Twivley returned with three tins of brackish ale and a bowl of Morgan's World pepper-nuts. The two 'Garsos gossiped quick and furiously, while Twivley tried to keep up with the conversation. It is hard for him to understand who everyone was, and he felt rude interrupting every few moments to ask for clarification, though when he did ask Jonah always took a moment or two to answer him. Wind hardly even registered he was there.

After ten or so minutes of being unable to participate in the conversation Twivley slugged down his drink and volunteered to get another round. Jonah said it his round and stood to go, but Wind just waved his hand limply at Twivley, pulled Jonah back down and kept talking at him.

As Twivley ordered the second round, a few nearby navymen saw the Petty Officer Third Class, the lowest of the non-commissioned officer ranks, at the bar. They approached him and demanded to know what he was doing there. Twivley desperately look back at Jonah for support, but the two aviators were deep in conversation and didn't notice Twivley's plight.

Jonah saw a strange movement out of the corner of his eye, like a wounded bird flapping it's wings, and glanced sideways. He saw Twivley being accosted by a group of low ranking navy officers.

"Hans, look," he said and nodded with his eyes.

Wind turned slight and glanced sideways, the officers had begun to move towards them, "You want to rumble 'em?"

"Hans, I don't want to get into a fight. Not today, my back is killing me," Jonah muttered, more nervous of meeting the commissar again then any back injury.

"It's just a couple of Stiffie pukes, nothing we can't sort out."

"Hans …" Jonah began, but the clutch of Navy fliers arrived abruptly at their table. One had a hard grip on Twivley's arm.

"What do you think you're doing here?" growled a flat-nosed sub-lieutenant.

Wind bristled at his tone, "Having a drink. You've a problem with that?"

"Officers only."

"We are officers, puke-face," snarled Wind, "I'm a Lieutenant and he's a Captain."

"Yeah, is that so? We don't like no Guard fuggers in here. Maybe it's time you got gone."

"That so," Wind mused. He stood up slowly and cracked his knuckles.

Jonah leapt up, putting his hand on Wind's chest and holding out his other at the navy officers. "Whoa! Let's not do this!"

"Get out!" yelled the sub-lieutenant.

Wind looked at Jonah aggressively; his lip curled back, "Come on, Ig. Let's ruck these pukes!"

Jonah screamed, also in terror, at him, "NO!" He grabbed Wind by the elbow and pushed his way out from behind the table and through the Navy officers, who grinned and make cat-calls as they passed.

Once outside Wind stared at his friend with disgust. He threw his hands in the air and said, "What's wrong with you! You've gone coward on me?"

"Frak you!" Jonah yelled.

"It's not like you to miss out on a little punch up."

"Frak you!" Jonah yelled again. He pointed to his own face, the bruises all but faded away, "This is what happened the last time I thought I knew best."

The canteen door slammed out and Wind jumped around, ready to throw punches. The sub-lieutenant called out, "Hey, take this with you," he shoved Twivley towards them.

**::::**

After being driven out of the canteen the three wandered around, aimless, and Jonah started complaining about his back. After a few kilometers he had to stop and rest. Sitting on an exposed pipe he massaged his lower back.

"Hans, my back. It's killing me. I think I might head back to the billets. Get some pain-killers or something."

"I have a better idea," Wind said, snapping his fingers loudly.

Jonah sighed. "And what might that be?"

"Two words," Wind held up his hand with a grin. He extended his thumb, "Mystery," then he extended his index finger, "Tour."

Jonah groaned.

"What's that?" Twivley asked.

It took another hour of walking and more than a few navy personnel were bothered for directions, but eventually the three found their way to the lower decks. Here was where the unofficial components of the navy resided - shoppes, temples, restaurants, gambling-establishments, cheap hab-units - a small city of civilians in the bowels of the ship, which provided a tiny slice of civilian life.

Wind's idea involved booze. The harder, the cheaper, the better. He purchased three large bottles of clear synth-liquor. It smelled of chemicals and tasted like burning. The three stood in a dark alcove, drinking the bottles as quickly as they could, coughing, swearing, and gagging.

Once they pounded the drinks they took off into the streets, yelling and whooping.

Mystery Tours were a tradition. The goal was to drink as much as possible, force the brain to black-out, and see where you woke up. It was not a responsible tradition.

Jonah did not remember stealing a security-patrol cab and racing through the understreets signing merry tunes. Nor did he remember sprinting for his life when they finally came to a crashing stop and Sec-Pat armsmen tore after them. He also did not remember being shot in the back with a heavy rubber bullet.

He also did not remember agreeing with Wind when he suggested the hunt up some illicit entertainment. Wind had a nose for that sort of thing. He found who he was looking for around the back of the shabby second rate recycled-meat mongers. A young man with a tattered navy surplus carry-all. The kid took one look at their dark green uniforms and blood stains and didn't even bother to ask if they were Sec-Pat. They walked up and Wind did the talking.

"Whatcha got?" Wind slurred.

The kid sniffed and opened the bag, showing his wares.

"Any of this tripe any good?" Wind asked.

"Yah, its frakking great," the kid sneered, his voice was nasal and piercing.

"Good," Wind said, pulling out a few items, "I'd hate to have come back and shot you."

Jonah slapped his forearm a few times, getting the blood to rush to the spot. He slowly peeled off the cover of a stimm pad with his teeth and gently applied the pad to the reddened forearm. He took a long, deep breath and laid back on the cot. Reaching over and grabbed a small wand from the side-table and tapped a button. The sound of chirping, singing birds filled the small, rented stay-room. The overhead lights outside were the dull orange of night-cycle.

"You ready?" a feminine voice called from the hatch to the toilet.

"Come on in, girl. I'm ready to fly high," Jonah slurred, the stimms already having an effect.

A woman stepped from the hatchway. She was a good ten years younger then Jonah, but the unkind life aboard a starship had made her look about his age. She wore a slip of a dress, a professional smile, nothing else.

She stalked across the room and climbed on top of Jonah, her body orange in the low light of the decks lamps that came through the window-hatch, "Like birds, do ya?" she asked.

"Tweet tweet," was his only reply.

**::::**

Jonah's head thundered. The sound of his own heartbeat was an Earthshaker cannon going off in his ear. He opened his eyes and saw the orange world through a strange grey film. He looked around and wondered where he was. A single room, with a bed in one corner and table and sink in the other. The walls were bare metal and an old worn carpet lay on the floor. There was a naked women next to him, sleeping soundly.

He swung his legs out of the bed and whined in pain. He back hurt. In a pained stoop he stood up and waddled over to a half-open hatch. He looked in and saw it was the wash room. He looked back at the women and stepped into the washroom, sliding the hatch shut quietly.

He vomited in the sink. Drank water. Vomited. Drank some more water. Then he sat in the shower for an hour, the limp spray of luck-warm water doing little to improve his hangover.

"What's your name?" Jonah asked the women. Day cycle had started an hour before and he'd been up and washed for half that. He was doing up his boots slowly when he asked.

"What do you want it to be?" she purred, lying naked on the cot.

"No, seriously, _your_ name."

"Keya," she said.

"Nice to meet you, Keya. I'm Ignis."

"Same to you Ignis," she replied sweetly. "Leaving so soon?"

"Sorry, I'd like to stay, but duty calls and all that."

"Shame. I like you. I might not have even charged you for an extra few hours this morning."

Jonah finished lacing up his boots, stood up, hissed in pain, straighten his dirty tunic top, and genuinely smiled down at the reposeful pleasure-girl, "I bet you say that to all the boys."

She laughed and rolled back on the cot, "Yeah, I do."

Jonah laughed to, he liked her. "Your moneys on the table. See you around, Keya."

Jonah exited the stay-room and walked out onto a grilled catwalk. He looked around. He did not recognize where he was. The level was still quiet, the deck hawkers just setting up their stalls and wares. The stink of the ship was the same. Rust, lubricant, body odor and bleach. Jonah heard a hatch open nearby and looked over.

After a moment, out of the door stepped Hans Wind. Fully dressed but looking terrible. His dark hair a mess and he smelt of booze and cheap perfume.

"Alright?" Jonah asked.

"No," Wind growled, closing the door. "My eyeballs are itching."

Jonah smiled, "Mine too. What did we do?"

Wind shrugged and joined Jonah at the railing. Jonah said, "Maybe we're just getting to old for Mystery Tours."

Wind shrugged, but Jonah saw that his comment and struck a chord. The man frowned and stared at the ground intensely. "Maybe," Wind muttered quietly.

No, it's true, neither of them were getting any younger, Jonah thought. He chuckled and put his arm around his comrade's shoulders. "Come on, you hungover puke let's get something to eat."

"Wait," Jonah suddenly stopped and looked around, "where's Twivley?"

**::::**

Jonah found his loadmaster sleeping in the Arvus. Twivley could not remember how he got there. Nor could he remember way he was covered in bruises, and he wondered what happened to his boots. His bare, pale feet stuck out from under the astro-suits he was using as a blanket.

Their first run of the day was a hard one. Hangover and exhausted they brought medical supplies to a unit Zusak Chasseurs. Up front Jonah started to get the shakes. It was subtle at first. His teeth stared to clack and he thought he was cold. He increased the heaters output but the shaking did not subside. Next came his hands. Soon he was having to seriously concentrate on keeping the craft steady.

The intercom chirped, "Sir, is everyone alright up there?"

"Fine, Twivley. Why?"

"The craft's shaking a bit more than usual. Are you sure everything is ok?"

"Just a bit tired is all. Nothing to worry about."

"Oh," Twively said, then asked sheepishly, "Are all mystery tours like that?"

Jonah grinned and said, "I don't remember."

Twivley's honest laugh made him smile.

It was a three hour trip to the surface and Jonah landed the arvus at the Chasseur's forward post. A company of swarthy Zusaks, dark-haired and tattooed, came to assist the unloading and helped Twivley ship the supplies. Afterwards, exhaustion was taking effect and the two airmen did not exchange any words while they flew to Piratto City for another pick-up.

At the operations hut Jonah checked-in with the clerk and received his dispatch pad. He looked it over with tired, burning eyes. He sighed with relief – his docket was empty.

"Excuse me, sir. This was 'graphed for you earlier," the clerk said and held out a folded memo-sheet.

It was a message wafer. It stated: [Jonah. Quit puking around. Get over here. I've got a prezzy for you. -Big One]

A crude, simple message from Odavos. Jonah sighed again, this time was irritation. Flem was up to his old tricks and games again. He asked the clerk, "What's this all about?"

The clerk shrugged and said, "I don't know sir, but you're off our flight roster."

Jonah blinked at him, confused.

"You're not flying with Trans-Log anymore," the clerk said.

Jonah looked that message again and asked, "When's the next flight to the Ugly Squadron's staging area?"

The clerk scrolled through a data-slate, "Oh, look at that, there's one in three minutes time. Pad eleven. You'd have to run to make."

He was still feeling ill and shaky, and the thought of having to sprint down to the launch pad made him want to vomit. _Ah-frak-it_ he decided and threw his dispatch pad at the clerk and bolted from the operations-hut.

He just barely made the flight in time, throwing himself bodily onto the ramp as it was shutting. The loadmaster thought he was an invader and nearly shot him. It was a long flight to the aircraft staging area at the north-eastern end of the Island and in the end he was glad he took it.

**::::**

Jonah smiled one of the biggest smiles of his life. He reached his hand out slowly and placed it gently onto the icon. A yellow angry-faced sun, wielding a heavy bolter in a muscled arm while smoking a big cigar. He slid he hand over the freshly painted name below the icon … _Sunfire_.

It had been over two months since Enginseer Iso had visited Jonah in the medical ward at Pirotta City – nearly five since his crash. In that time _Sunfire_ had been hauled out of the stinking jungle by heavy lifters and taken to the small Mechanicus forge-ship in orbit. There the tech-priests repaired and blessed, refitted and sanctified. _Sunfire_ was made whole again. The warhorse was ready to ride once more.

Jonah turned around and quickly wrapped his arms around Enginseer Iso. The machine-man did not react in anyway.

"Where's my hug?" Odavos asked from nearby.

Jonah hugged his commander too. The rest of Ugly squadron _ahhhhed_ in a comic fashion.

"Throne above," Jonah said when had finished embracing his commander, "I never thought I'd see him again. Now if I only had Sun back I'd be complete."

"I've requested his re-transfer, but it'll take some time. The valks his with are on the other side of the planet. In the meantime I've got a replacement for you. Jonah meet Yon Hooker."

Jonah gave the man a good-looking over. He was young, probably less the twenty-standard years old. Shiny new lieutenant pins on his collar. He was clean cut and slickly handsome. Arrogance leaked from his eyes. A hotshot, young devil no doubt, thought Jonah. He knew the type, he was one himself.

"Sir," Hooker presented his hand.

"Lieutenant," Jonah took his hand. Hooker squeezed it far more than necessary.

**::::**

With the destruction of the enemy air units the Navy had retired most of its atmospheric assets to the space fleet. Only a few squadrons of Lightnings and a few hundred Marauder bombers where still stationed planet-side. Typically, intra-atmosphere escort duty fell to the Navy, but with most of their aircraft packed neatly away, it passed to the 99th to escort the hundreds of aircraft traveling around the planet every day.

Jonah climbed to two thousand meters in slow long spiral. After pulling _Sunfire_ through a tight figure-8, he aimed his nose upwards. He power climbed near vertically to ten-thousand meters, climbing thirty meters per seconds.

"How does he feel?" Odavos asked over the vox.

"Good. Tight." Jonah was breathing hard.

"Excellent. Now get your arse back here. Let's get these fat-cats delivered in good order."

The 'fat-cats' were ten fat bodies Catervor-class scows. Massive bulk transport vessels used to haul huge freight containers lashed to the long, wide flat bed that made up the center of the air-vessel. The remaining four crafts of Ugly Squadron – Ugly Five had been destroyed over Alto Cabels and Ugly Six was still under the knife in high orbit - were tasked to escort them from the forwards airbases on Piratto Island to Draco's new bases a mere one hundred kilometer for Morgania. The General had ordered a massive build up of resources on the main landmass. The assault on the capital was happening quicker than most had anticipated. Wily old Draco was up to something.

"Mind if I fly her down," asked Hooker over the intercom.

"_Sunfire_ is a _HE_," Jonah replied, "And no, you cannot."

"I think you should let me. You seem a little shaky back there."

"You forget yourself, Lieutenant," Jonah said calmly into the intercom. He looked down to see his left hand. It was shaking.

Hooker was right; he was shaky, literally and figuratively. He rapidly clinched and unclenched his fist half-a-dozen times to get his nerves under control. He'd been sweating buckets since the cockpit had closed, even with the climatic controls pumping out blasts of cold air. His mouth was terribly dry. The last time he remembered feeling like this was the first time he took an aircraft up under his own guidance, he remembered being dreadfully nervous then, aged fifteen. He had the same feeling now.

"Forgiveness, sir," replied Hooker.

Jonah ignored his gunner and angled the Vulture downwards. He saw the ten big, long scows and three tiny Vultures fly around them. They were thousands of meters below him. He closed his eyes briefly, suddenly afraid to return to them. He thought of his crash. The pain. All the pain that followed. The priests like to say that _pain was weakness leaving the body_ … but if that was the case, why did he feel weaker than he ever had before.

He took a slow, long breath and pushed _Sunfire _into a steep, hard drive.

He screamed at the top of his lungs as the altimeter spun rapidly.

As the swiftly approaching scows grew in size, he imagined them as targets and lined them up in his crosshairs. He clacked his teeth in imaginary weapon discharge, in his minds-eyes he blew one scow apart, then a second, and finally severely damaged a third. Not bad for one pass, he thought.

"For Throne's sake, pull up!" shrilly screamed Hooker.

Jonah blinked and saw a huge scow looming before him.

He pulled hard the stick and slammed down on the vector pedals. He felt pain lance through his back as the g-forces compressed his weakened spine as his weight momentarily quadrupled. He brought the Vulture level mere meters from the scow, but it wasn't enough. He bounced hard on his landing skids, denting a container lashed to the scow's cargo bed. The flaring vector-jets blackening the neighboring containers. After the bounce, Jonah managed to get some control and throttled forward, and in a wobbly dive, pitch over the scow's cockpit.

**::::**

The scow pilot understandably panicked when he saw the Vulture flash past less then a meter from his windglass. He pulled a desperate hard-right, driving his scow into the one running alongside it. Containers crumpled or broke loose and cascaded to the jungle below.

**::::**

"I'm sorry sir, I don't know what to say," Jonah stood stiff at formal attention, parade stance.

The Air Colonel sat in a carved wooden chair, smoking a long tabac roll held in an ornate holder. He had taken over an exquisite home, miraculously undamaged in the uprising and lounged liked he had always owned the place. Jonah noted he had started to put on weight, namely around his chin and growing paunch. He wondered when the last time the Air Colonel had taken exercise.

"Captain, relax please." He puffed long and hard, "You have to understand, they're not like us."

"Excuse me, sir?" Jonah said, moving into relaxed stance.

"These people. Those scow-drivers for example. The petty merchants that run the air-freight companies. The ingratous natives clamoring at my door every time I turn around. They're not fighting men, like I and you."

Jonah stayed quiet, not really understanding what Zelekin was saying.

The Air Colonel continued, waving his hand arrogantly as he spoke, "I don't care much for their whining, '_ohhhh damaged property, blah blah blah_.' Well, they can pucker up kiss my puking arsehole." Zelekin could be a very uncharming man.

"I like you, Ignis," he said pointing a finger at him. He used of Jonah's forename as if they were longtime friends. "You're damned brave. The way you handle a Vulture, well son, it brings tears to my eyes. I wish I had ten like ya. Even reviewing the flight tapes of you avoiding the scow were damned impressive."

Jonah nodded slightly, not sure if 'avoided' and 'impressive' were the words he'd use. More like 'collided' and 'desperate.'

"However, I've got to do something. The natives are clamoring, and all that. Some sort of punishment. Any suggestions?"

"Sir, are you asking me to punish myself?"

"Yes, Ignis,"

"Sir, I can't really … emm …"

"Alright, alright. Let's say, we dock you a month's pay and … half a day running errands for Cave. What do you say?"

Jonah as flabbergasted. "Sounds very reasonable, sir," he said. He expected to be banned from flying for weeks, a reduction in rank, permanent marks on his record. Execution.

"I'm a reasonable man, you know. And you're _my _man, isn't that right, Ignis," Zelekin puffed on the last of his tabac roll and watched Jonah carefully.

Jonah saw his bright blue eyes, like laser targetters locked on, he said quickly, "Of course, sir. I'm your man. True-and-Through."


	10. Life and Limb

**Chapter XI**

**Life and Limb**

**::::**

_"Men and Women of Beligarso, it's time to earn your flight pay. Let's show the Foe why they should fear us."  
-_General Carinonova Draco III, during the Liberation of Morgan's World, 879.996 M41

**::::**

All along the front the Foe was retreating towards Morgania. Vulnerable and disorganized they were desperate to reach the city before the Imperials smashed them asunder. With the enemy in the field, fleeing, General Draco ordered his two Beligarso regiments to 'earn their pay.' Air-Assault was what the Beligarso regiments did best. Soldiers of 75th boarded the Valkyries of the 99th and they thundered towards the broken and reeling Foe.

As the Imperial Guard regiments advanced on foot along the roads and through the jungle, the Beligarso regiments were busy harassing the Foe well behind the main line of advance. Wherever the high flying, sharp-eyed Aeolus Squadron or low-orbit Navy sensorist found a location where Foe were sheltering and recovering, the dark green aircraft were sure to follow.

In the wide Gmina valley, one of the major routes to the Morgania, five Ugly Vultures escorted the dozen Iota Company Valkyries in a rapid deep-strike attack. Each transport was fully laden with a dozen guardsmen, combined full platoon of Air-Assault veterans was airborne. The aircraft flew mere meters above the jungle canopy, thundering along the contours of the ground, flowing like liquid.

Twenty kilometers behind the main line of advance the Vultures burst over the trees and swarmed around a town, noses down, hunting hungrily. They systematically went to work on the town, sectioning it with their sensors and cameras. Threatened by their presence, the enemy fired at them. The Imperial aircraft returned fire, obliterating prominent buildings with autocannon and rocket fire.

The fight was on.

**::::**

The Valks roared in hot, town-ward doorguns blazing. Six landed on either side of the town. The troopers disembarked quickly and professional, and within ten seconds the Valkyries were airborne again. They circled the village, low and fast, moving out over the jungle awaiting recall.

The assault troopers swept in and took up defensive positions along the outskirts of the town. Once all units were down, they advanced in move-and-cover squads, their overlapping fields of fire deadly effective. Hellguns blazed hot.

They weren't interested in holding ground, they were only interested in killing the enemy. Consolidating gains was left to others Guard units. They were stormsquads. Their objective was simple, find the enemy and close to them, and kill them. Dark green guardian angels hovered overhead, throwing fire at unseen targets and protecting flanks. Once they swept through the village, house-to-house, room-to-room, they would remount the awaiting Valkyries and move onto the next target.

At two hundred meters Jonah swept _Sunfire_ around in an orbit. He was paired with _Redstar_ and they were the second circle of three circuit above the town. Nothing below them could escape their unkind affections.

Jonah spotted a running group of figures, "Hooker, down right."

"I see 'em," he said and unloaded with the nose-gun. The heavy bolter rounds tore up the ground and buildings. "Damn it!" Hooker snarled. The rounds had been off by more than ten meters.

Jonah restrained himself from saying anything. He had forgotten that no everyone had a lifetime of experience with heavy bolters like Sun.

"Steady as you go, Yon," Jonah said, trying to be helpful.

He heard Hooker taking muttering, and watched the picture-screen roll as Hooker angled the nose-gun. A few seconds late the screen showed bolts hitting a long wall and small outhouse, they splintered. Figures darted out from behind the wall and dashed to another hab-unit. Hooker fired again, missed again. Hooker swore.

Jonah said, "I got this. Find others." He rotated _Sunfire_ around, bringing the nose to face the hab-unit. He pulled the trigger of the autocannons and ten high-explosive round destroyed the hab. From a kilometer away _Red Star_ pounded the same hab-unit from a different angle.

Hooker asked, "What she doing? That's our target."

Jonah replied, "This isn't on any tactical-slates, but we try to keep an eye on where the other Vultures are shooting. Normally, if their targets survive the initial attack they hide from their direct attack, so the other bird can get in behind them, shot them right up the frakhole."

"Clever," Hooker said

The nose-gun fired. He hit the running figures just as they emerged from behind one hab-unit and raced to get behind another. He didn't get them all, but three or four bodies were blown apart.

In his circuit Jonah passed over a large square on the west side of town. He saw a heavy truck speed around a building and slammed to a stop in the square, burning rubber smoke flew from the tires. Dozens a mudmen spilled out the nearby habs and offices, racing towards it. They desperately threw themselves aboard. Jonah drifted to the left and Hooker called out over the vox, "Troop transport down at my twelve, I'm gonna Hellstrike."

"Let me do it," Jonah said.

"No," said Hooker.

"We don't have time for you to miss, take flight controls," Jonah ordered.

After a moment, Hooker said, "Got flight control," and took over flight-duties and lowered the nose and lined up the invisible laser targeter emitted from the pod on the nose of the Vulture. Once locked onto the squirming bed of the heavy truck, Jonah breathed a quick prayer for accuracy and pulled the trigger. The Hellstrike blazed like a star from underwing and zipped away.

From a kilometer away Jonah watched the truck and he saw the driver-side door snap open and the driver glance up at him. Without a moment's pause the man leapt out of the cabin and much to Jonah's surprise, start running as fast as he could.

The Hellstrike struck the truck. There was a flash of light and it flipped end over end in a ball of fire, flaming and charred bodies hurled in every direction. "That's a skull marker," he said into the squadron vox.

"We'll see about that," grumbled Pergoud.

Drifting further left Jonah saw the truck-driver running for his life down a small lane. In the zoom-picter Jonah saw the man glance briefly over his shoulder, looking back at him. That made Jonah angry. How dare such scum look at me, Jonah thought, this man had to die.

"Hooker, get that runner," Jonah said, taking back flight control.

Hooker fired a bust of ten bolter rounds at him. The street was washed with explosions and dirt, yet somehow the man emerged unscathed, arms and legs pumping frantically through the dust cloud. He fired another burst ahead of the man, but the Foe turned at the last moment and desperately threw himself over a low, wide wall, disappearing from his sightline.

Jonah had nothing but hate for the Arch-Enemy of Mankind, but he felt a strange respect for this man's survival instinct.

He pushed down the throttle and came around the line of the wall. Hooker sighted him running full pelt. Positioned at his six, he had a perfect kill shot.

The heavy bolter chundered underfoot, the man was blown apart.

"I got him! I got him!" Hooker cheered, pumping his fist.

As the Air-Assault soldiers swept through the village, they drove the Foe out of the town. However, they left the rearward section open, an avenue of retreat the Chaos warriors couldn't resist taking. Once they were out of the town and running, they realized they had leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire. The gunships set about annihilating them.

The Sky-Warriors of Beligarso lost seven men, and another fourteen wounded. They counted and marked the seventy-two mud-covered bodies they left in their wake.

With the loss of a quarter of their forces, including the platoon's officer, the ground forces opted to return to the temporary airfield that served as their base. Control confirmed the Air-Assault's request for return.

Odavos selected the squadron channel, "Ugly, standby for frag orders." Control had routed new orders to the squadron. Two Vultures were to escort the transports back and the other three were re-tasked to provide air cover for a nearby ground convoy.

"Right, Uglys, listen up. _Big One_, _Sunfire_, and _Redstar_ to cover the convoy, _Tusker_ and the _Mouth_ are the Valk's shepherds," Odavos said over the vox. There was a general uproar as the two aircraft assigned to the Valkyries complained.

"Ugly One," Jonah said on Odavos's private channel. "I'll take a spot on the flying escort. I've got Youngblood up here, if things got hot on the ground I don't think he'd be ready for that sort of action." Jonah said.

"Negative Ugly Four, that's why I want you with me. He could use the experience. You letting him fly much?" Odavos asked.

"Yes," Jonah lied.

"Yeah, right. Let the boy fly."

"Yes, Flem."

**::::**

The Air-Assault troopers collected their dead and wounded and departed the smoking, ruined village. Once airborne the aircraft broke formation and went their separate ways. Jonah sat back, keeping an eye on the instruments as Hooker flew. In Jonah's opinion he could fly well enough in a straight line, so he took to indentifying the various species clouds.

Above and nearest _Sunfire_ at under two thousand meters were the flat and patchy stratocumulus stratiformi, above them were long stretches of altocumulus floccus. At around five thousand meters were various breeds of altostratus and cirrocumulus. At over six thousands meters were the long, thin, rib-like cirrus fibratus. As he eyes wondered from formation to formation he didn't like the look of low clouds on along the horizon, a wall of dark cumulonimbus, they started low but stretched to thousands of meters high. Dark and heavy they foretold of heavy storms to come.

After a few minutes of cloud gazing, he glanced back at the instruments and then watched the other aircraft. _Redstar_ cruised easily alongside. The big, five-pointed red star icon on the cockpit bumped along. Sitting in the back-seat was Lydia Pegoud, three skulls to her name; down in the front-seat the beautiful Katya Madon, withtwo skulls. He had known both of them for two and a half years. Morgan's World was their second campaign together. He respected their flying-skills and fighting-smarts.

Jonah pulled out the one-handed keyboard attached to the forward console and typed a quick text-comm to Pegoud.

It stated: [_bitch_]

He might respect them, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to fool around with them. He watched her helmeted head turn towards him and shake slightly. He saw Madon look his way too. Then the two helmets were bobbing up and down, as if they were laughing heartily.

The screen blinked: [_you're such a flirt_]

Jonah smiled and saluted the airwomen. He looked ahead of _Sunfire's _nose and saw _Big One_. The commander's Vulture was an old and grizzled model. Much like the commander, himself. It had been in service since the first days of the regiment, over thirty years. The aircraft was reaching the end of its active service life - another campaign, maybe two, before it would be withdrawn from combat and shipped back to Beligarso to be used as a training flyer.

Staring at _Big One_, Jonah titled his head and said, "Eh, Hooker, just a word of advice." He paused for moment, "When the commander said he wants you in a close, he didn't mean you should fly right up his tail-pipe."

"Ah, right," Hooker replied and eased back.

"Pull back further and show me a tactical dive," Jonah said.

"Excuse me?"

"You hear me. Give me a tactical dive."

"Sir, I'm not sure that is a good idea."

"Why not?"

"We're flying at three-hundred kilometers per hour, two thousand meters in the air in a warzone and you want to me perform like a dancing servitor?"

"No," Jonah said. "I want you to perform a high-speed combat maneuver ... in a warzone."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Get on with it," Jonah said.

Hooker muttered something unpleasant under his breath, then say, "Fine."

"Don't worry, I wouldn't let you kill us."

Hooker pulled back from _Big One_, drifting away slowly.

The text box blinked: [_Joooooooonah_]. It was from Pegoud. He could hear her admonishing voice over through the word.

He quickly typed: [j_ust taking this chance as a learning opportunity_.] No reply came, but Jonah knew she would rolling her eyes in disdain.

Jonah placed his hands over the flight controls, as a means of insurance, then said, "When you're ready."

Hooker powered up, angling upwards, climbing quickly. Then he pushed the nose downwards. The Vulture screamed and darted earthwards. At five hundred meters Hooker pulled back the level and slowly the craft flattened out, running parallel the ground.

From the backseat Jonah yipped, "Give us a quick touch-an-go! Right there, that patch of grass!"

Hooker, excited from pushing the machine hard, dropped the nose back down. Just as he about to hit the ground, he jerked back the level, and stomped on the vector-pedals. _Sunfire_ touched down, bounced once, and was airborne again. The craft jumped forward abruptly but made good headway and climbed quickly.

"_Well_ done, Hooker," Jonah said, slowly moving his hands away from the flight controls. "We might make a combat aviator out of you yet."

"Thank you, Ignis," Hooker was breathing heavily over the intercom.

"Now, get us back into formation before the Commander gives us demerits."

**::::**

As Hooker flew Jonah worked the vox systems. Vultures had superior communication systems and he could listen to just about any active vox-set in a two-hundred kilometer radius. Flicking through the channels he listened to reports and messages, ciphers and code-names. He stopped on the ground convoy's vox-frequencies. There was the usual bored chatter amongst bored soldiers - someone was complimenting about his bowels, another wondered if the food would be better further along, another still was gabbing away about his girlfriend back home. As they got closer he heard the Odavos contact the convoy.

"Convoy Stampede, Stampede Nine-Six, come in. This is Ugly One, your aircover."

After a few moments of buzzing the vox crackled, "Ugly One, Stampede Nine-Six here. Nice to meet you."

"We'll take up positions at your head, tail and mid-section. Shout if you need us."

"Understood. Stampede out."

The highway came into view. It was a long, dark line of rockcrete. Twenty meters of jungles cleared to each side. They passed over the convoy once and swung around, getting a good look. It was sixty vehicles long, each spaced twenty meters apart. Half were tracked, rhomboid-shaped Trojans, each hauling additional loads on flatbeds or trailers. The other half of the convoy was made up of beefy Cargo-10's. A lone armed Chimera rode at the head of the procession. All were painted dust-brown and marked with large 'G-VI' on their flanks. Jonah took up position at the end of the convoy, flying above the final hauler.

"What unit are they?" Hooker asked, zooming in with the gun-picter.

"I think they're the Gibson VI. A mechanized support regiment. I saw them hauling some of our kit back at Pirotta City."

"There a bit close to front, aren't they?" Hooker asked.

"Yeah, but some of the boys in the Chasseurs cleared this area and established a forward base near of those mountains. Managed it on foot, no less."

"Will wonders never cease," Hooker replied haughtily.

Jonah made to say more, but Odavos cut in, "Uglys, the lead track has spotted a road block. Standby for possible engagement."

Jonah took control of _Sunfire_ without a moment's hesitation, "I have control." Hooker's head began slowly turning left and right, looking for trouble. They were ready to fight.

"Jonah, get up here," Odavos said. "I need your Hellstrike to remove the blockage before the whole convoy stops. Pegoud, shift to the tail. Eyes open people."

The Vultures did a quick dance and switched positions. Jonah powered to the head of the convoy and the gun-camera zoomed in on the roadblock. It was well placed at a natural choke point; thick jungle on one side and a deep, muddy bog on the other. The roadblock itself was simple, trees had be crudely cut down and bound together with chains. The lead Chimera had already stopped. The other haulers were slowly stacking up behind it.

"Hoooker, I'll line us up, you destroy those trees."

"On it!"

Jonah quickly lined the nose of the Vulture up, the tiny, invisible laser focused on the center of the trees. With a quick prayer and light touch of a button and the missile roared from underwing. The missile ran straight and true, the machine-spirit faithfully following the laser. It blew apart the bound trees.

Once the smoke had cleared the Gibson Chimera attempted to drive through, but the debris was still too much. There was a quick vox exchange and Jonah swung the Vulture around in a circuit, realigning the trees for another missile. They had to wait for several moments until the track pulled clear of the blast radius.

Hooker set another missile. Even then the trees were still in the way, "Throne above," Hooker complained, "What are they made of … Imperial steel?"

He sent in a third missile.

A fourth explosion rocked the Chimera.

"Hooker?" Jonah yelled.

"It wasn't me!"

The vox went mad with shouts of enemy contact.

From the cockpit of a Vulture the only sign of the battle below was the hundreds of tiny dust puffs thrown up by small-arms impacts, and distance muzzle flashes. Occasionally there would a spark of a bullet spanking off a Trojan's hull. Though thin-skinned the Trojans could take small caliber rounds without much difficulty. The cargo-10's had no such luxury. Their canvas tops were quickly riddled with holes.

The Vultures broke off and moved towards the left-hand treeline. The aviators locked out to muzzle flashes and send waves of lethal metal. Heavy bolters and autocannons raked the dense flora, rockets tore up the undergrowth.

To their left, _Big One_ blasted at a skulking group of Mudmen. Hooker swung the nose-gun around to assist, splintering branches and shattering trunks.

The efforts of the Vultures were great, but there were only three of them and the convoy was two and quarter kilometers long. They couldn't possibly be everywhere at once. The Gibson drivers and the convoy-guardsmen were all armed and ready to defend themselves once the Foe reached the cleared the protective jungleline.

They made a good account for themselves but they weren't battle-hardened veterans like the Air-Assault soldiers, and the Mudmen of Morgan's World breached the convoy at a dozen places. The fighting quickly became hand-to-hand. Jonah saw one Gibson atop his track defending it with a huge spanner. The man brained a Foe, before he was pulled off his feet.

The safest place for an enemy was mixed right in with the friendlies, the Beligarso knew it and couldn't bring their powerful weapons to bear. To clear the Foe off the ground vehicles they flew in hard and low, hoping the sight of ten tons of aircraft screaming down at them would frighten them away.

Jonah sighted one Trojan crawling with Foe attempted to gain access through the roof hatch. He thundered towards it. At the last moment he pulled the nose up and twisted the craft, using the powerful vector-jets to blow Mudmen from the top of the Trojan. Spinning in a tight circuit, Jonah looked down.

The nose-gun roared continuous in short, controlled bursts. Nearby another group of Mudmen were rushing forwards. He powered ahead, pushing himself over them. As he passed he ejected his illum-flares. They exited the Vulture like blazing bird-shit. The canisters filled with pyrotechnic compounds exploded and burned at five thousand degrees, creating a burning wall that not even the cultists of Khrone would dare to cross.

Along the treeline a heavy weapon spat fire and a hail of bullets punched in amongst the Gibson men. Hooker slaved the nose-gun onto the weapon discharge and blasted away. After a few seconds he let off the trigger and moved to another target. Just as he did so the big weapons started firing again. Hooker swung the nose-gun back and blasted the enemy again, cursing as he did so. Once again, once he had finished firing the Foe would pop up and let off the heavy stubber. Hooker tried twice more to get the man, but to no avail. He was canny and dangerous with the big gun.

"Ignis, can that puke-stain have his very own Hellstrike?" Hooker asked.

Jonah smiled and lasered the ditch. Hooker touched the launch rune. The falling star exploded on target. The weapon stopped firing.

Jonah cruised over the smoking hole the Hellstrike had made. It was hard to tell through the smoke, but Jonah thought he saw the Foe. The arch-enemy sat up, still wielding a huge weapon. Somehow he managed to raise heavy stubber and fired into _Sunfire's_ underside. The shots pinged against the armor plating, Jonah powered forward. As he turned up-left, the canopy above Hooker's head was splashed with a wave of blood. The young man screamed and flailed.

"Hooker, where are you hit?" Jonah asked calmly, power-climbing away.

"My leg! My fraking leg has been torn off!" Hooker wailed.

"Calm down!" Jonah yelled. "Hooker, Yon. First aid yourself. Get your tourniquet on."

Hooker fumbled for his tourniquet strap built into his flight suit. He pulled it tight and screamed, pounding the cockpit windshield in anguish.

While Hooker took care himself Jonah was on the vox, "Ugly One, I've been hit hard. My gunner is wounded and bleeding out. Request permission to return to base."

"Negative, Ugly Four."

Jonah paused for moment, his hands and feet ready to push _Sunfire_ away hard and fast. "Eh, negative? Did I hear you right? Come again."

"Correct, you heard me right. We need to get this damned convoy moving. Engage the Foe, Jonah. Engage."

"Flem," Jonah said, ignoring vox-discipline, "He's gonna die."

"Affirmative, Ugly Four. Throne be with him."

Jonah knew Odavos was right. He had to stay on station and engage the enemy below. They were deep in a fierce fire-fight and the Vultures would make all the difference to the convoy surviving the encounter. Hundreds of lives could depend on it. Not to mention the loss of hundreds of tons of military resources. Even though Odavos's tactical instincts were right, and Jonah certainly did not much like Yon Hooker, it still left a sore taste in his mouth to leave the man to die.

The Gibsons overcoming their initially troubles, seemed to get the better of the outnumbered Foe. They drove them off their tracks and wheeled-haulers. As the enemy fled from the roadway the Vultures swept around and down, autocannons roaring. Jonah set the nose-bolter to its neutral position: facing forwards it stayed static, spiting fire and throwing rounds. Dismembered bodies littered the clear ground around the roadway.

Once the Foe had fled, Jonah heard Odavos berating the Gibson commander over the vox. The convoy slowly began to move away. Vehicles too damaged to move were simply plowed out of the way. The few tech-priests ran amount them, releasing their machine-spirits before setting demo-charges, turning them to useless scrap.

Ugly Four was released from duty the moment the convoy resumed movement. Jonah pushed the engine to full burn. It took him twelve minutes to reach the forward airbase. He vox in his situation

"Air control, Ugly Four with emergency casualty on board. Requesting priority landing."

The operator replied, "Priority landing status granted. We'll clear the runway Alpha. We have a medic listen. He wants to know the patient's status."

"Air control," Jonah said. "He has massive trauma to the leg, and potentially secondary wounds. From what I can see, his 'pit is covered in blood but his managed to get his toury on. However, he hasn't responded to verbal questions in over three minutes."

After a moment of silence the operator said, "We got that Ugly Four. See you on the ground."

Landing field Alpha canceled all activities and emergency and medicae units were already rolling out fast-response teams.

Jonah's landing was blazing hot. Thumped down hard, the moment he was on the ground, he killed the engine, popped open the canopies and quickly undid his harness. He stood and scampered up and over the forward-console. Holding onto the forward canopy for balance he swung himself neatly into the front-seat.

Jonah stood with his feet to either side of Hooker. The man's head was slumped forward, unmoving. The front-seat was awash with blood, the foot-well was a pool of dark liquid. Jonah reached down and undid the gunner's restraints. Access ladders banged as they were pushed up against the cockpit, heads and hands appeared.

Hooker was pulled from the seat, carried down the ladder and rushed to the waiting gurney. The Guard medics made rush away, but a groundie ran after the trolley, carrying Hooker's severed leg. A medic took it and tucked it in beside his still attached leg, before racing away.

**::::**

The hard rain rattled the roof of the porta-hab. The airmen used it as their sleeping quarters and it had a dark and shadowy interior; the weak lamps cast dim light over the cots and trunks. The door was pushed open and Odavos walked in, soaking wet from the short walk from the landing field. He held his flight helmet by the chin strap and looked exhausted.

Jonah was alone, holding picture in his hands. He looked up at his commander and without being asked, shook his head slowly.

Odavos nodded and sat on a nearby cot, fiddling with his helmet. After a long silence Odavos sighed and said, "I hope you understand."

Jonah nodded but said nothing.

"You'll have to make those calls someday too."

Jonah nodded again and stared at the picture in his hands. It was Ugly Squadron on the first day of the Liberation of Morgan's World. Aboard the _Iron Dragonfly_ all twelve aviators were lined up, pilots standing behind kneeling gunners. Each had a helmet under arm and a smile on their face. _Big One_ acted as the picture's background.

Jonah asked, "Would you have made the same call if it had been Balor or Zaher? Or me?"

Without blinking Odavos said, "Yes, Jonah. I most certainly would have."


	11. They Came From Above

**Chapter X  
They Came From Above**

**~ O ~**

"_Tanks? Pfft, don't waste my time. You don't need any damned tanks when you've got my Vultures_."  
-Air Colonel Zelekin before the Battle of Morgania.

**~ I ~**

The zenith of the two year effort now called the Liberation of Morgan's World was the recapture of the planetary capital, Morgania. The capitol was a modestly sized hive city with a pre-uprising population just shy of a billion. Though millions upon millions died in the hive, the urban sprawl, and on the roads leading out of the hive, many millions more joined with the cultists. Furthermore, the city was stuffed with Chaotic refugees, driven before the might of the Emperor's servants. Navy sensorists and numberist estimated that up to five hundred million followers of the dark gods where housed in the once glorious city of Morgania.

It was a terrifying prospect and many times the number of fighting men the Imperial Guard had fielded, which roughly amounted to only one-hundred-and-sixty thousand men, though more arrived every few days, like moths to the flame.

That was how the Imperium waged war. Isolate and overwhelm, no matter the cost. The Imperium's initial response was tiny in comparison to Foe, a mere seven regiments. No two where the same size or make-up and they forty-five thousand men all told. Though over time their effort grew and grew as more and more assets were diverted from nearby systems and fleets until they could overwhelm the enemy simply by weight of numbers, whether it took two years, or two hundred.

The Imperial effort was seriously deficient in heavy armor. Only one armor unit was on the planet, and it wasn't even a combat regiment, the Gibson VI Mechanized Support Corp. Made up of most light artillery, anti-aircraft and utility vehicles. Even if there had been heavy armor units, the planet's geologic make-up prohibited their use. The jungles and semi-topic forest that wrapped the planet made tough going for heavy tanks. Morgan's World was battle of boots.

General Carinonova Draco III, Kyrios of Fornix and Protector of Beligarso, the master of Morgan's World liberation, it seemed, was not bothered by the overwhelming odds facing him. As the old expression went, he had an ace up the majestic sleeves of his number one dress uniform.

Two aces in fact.

Firstly, he had over one hundred-and-twenty lethal Vulture gunships and over twice the number of armed Valkyries. Each aircraft was crewed by talented and fearless veterans. They made him proud to be a true-and-through 'Garso. The aircraft punched drastically above their weight, and pound for pound, were the most potent weapon in the General's arsenal. They were a significant force multiplier, especially considering the Foe had no more airborne vessels to threaten the Imperial aircraft.

Secondly, and far more importantly, the Astartes had arrived in-system to assist in the liberation. Three full companies Minotaur Space Marines. Draco thought their unusually colored armor – red and yellow quartered, with red and yellow tiger stripes on the arms and legs – left something to be desired, but their reputation for brutal assaults and hand-to-hand combat was just what he needed.

The General and their commander, Captain Bos, worked out a plan to deliver the capital into Imperial hands. It worked, though not without great cost. However, the Emperor's Aquila flew over the Magistrates Palace once more.

**~ II ~**

From out of their jungle bases the Imperial forces moved towards the city's walls. Or what was left of them. A Navy cruiser had reduced vast stretches of the hundred meter high curtain wall to less than rubble. Afterwards, large flights of Navy bombers laid waste to the area behind the wall with thousands of tons of high explosives.

Then the infantry went it.

The vanguard of the Imperial ground attack was fronted by the Penal Legions of Cestus Vale. Far from their penitentiary home-world near the Veiled Region, the grey-clad, shaven-headed convict-conscripts rushed out of the jungle along a three kilometer front. They were met with fearsome resistance. In many places the fighting was hand-to-hand.

The reprobates of Cestus Vale were supported by the artillery elements of the Gibson VI Mechanized Support Corps. Their Griffon heavy mortar carriers, considered antiqued by some military circles, were deadly effective at close fire support. The regiment's Hydras were instrumental in dislodging dug-in enemies with their quad-barreled, rapid-firing autocannons. The Trojan utility vehicles with fixed dozer blades followed the main push, clearing the avenues of advance the Penal Legionaries had secured with their lives.

After six hours of hard fighting, the other Guard regiments moved forward. The Merity Astro-Deepers, a heavy infantry regiment of large men with heavy weapons, anchored the line at the center. Along the right flank advanced two units. The Adare Gundogs, a well equipped infantry regiment with a reputation for dogged-defense and the famed Pikes of Serenity, grenadiers of the first order. On the left flank, the quick-footed Zusak Chasseurs moved forward at good pace and on the far left was the aggressive Beligarso Air-Assault moved up on foot, much to their chagrin. Pirotta militia levies, filled with every available commissar in the battle theatre, followed in the wake of the Imperial Guard. They consolidated gains, established supply lines, extracted the wounded and executed prisoners. Behind the newly formed PDF divisions, and ordered to shoot any who retreated, were the much depleted Cex Rifle Regiments.

The Space Marines were deployed deep into the city by drop-pod under the cover of darkness the night before the general Guard advance. Two companies, nearly two hundred of the deadliest warriors of the Imperium, were ordered to, in no uncertain terms, _kill everything_. The death toll they created was truly unbelievable. Over the days to come hundreds of thousands of cultists would die by their ceramite-encased hands.

The final company of Minotaurs, fearsome veterans all, assaulted the main hive spire alone. Their tales of heroism and bravery would go down in the annuals of Minotaur lore. For weeks they fought their way through the spire. Finally, they killed the rebellion's leadership cohorts in a brutal close-quarter battle on the golden Steps of Morgan, before the Throne of the Governor. Bos himself climbed the last few steps and slew the previous planetary governor and instigator of the uprising. In doing so they broke the cultist's ability to fight effectively. However, as followers of the blood-god effectiveness mattered little and they fought on, regardless of any chance of success.

**~ III ~**

On the opening morning of the Battle of Morgania, above the battlefield flew the massed gunships of the 99th. Hundreds of aircraft stretched out a line three kilometers wide and stacked up three thousand meters high. Immune and untouchable they hovered like vengeful angels, bring death and destruction with them.

Zelekin, egotist that he was, boasted that his air-force was the most important factor to the General's forthcoming victory. The Astartes, Emperor bless them he said, would make the Foe run in terror but it was _his_ Vultures that would tear them apart. Like a mad man he worked furiously to get everything in place. Troop transfers, ordnance loads, he established forward airbases as close to the front as Draco would allow him, and stacked them with crates of the munitions, fuel and spare parts. He drilled his ground teams hard, exclaiming to them, 'quicker turnarounds equal quicker liberation.'

He himself would fly lead-craft of the day. _Zeus_ was to be airborne for the final battle. The Mechanicus for their part had hurriedly got as many aircraft fixed and repaired as they could and armed them every weapon in their significant arsenal.

Ugly Squadron flew in the third rank of six, behind the Vultures of Spear and Warbird Squadrons. _Sunfire_ was armed with its usual heavy bolter, autocannons, and two triple-pack of rockets pods. However, for this fight Jonah had exchanged the standard high explosive rockets for flechettes. The flechette rockets were lethal anti-infantry devices. When fired, each rocket broke apart and released a hail of forty adamantium darts. Adamantium was one of the hardest materials known to Mankind and the darts could pierce two meters of rockcrete and easily still have enough power to kill a man.

"Give me thirty degree to port," said _Sunfire's_ gunner.

The pilot rotated the nose of the aircraft round slightly.

"Thank you, Ignis."

"You're welcome, Balor," Jonah said, "Oh, and have I welcomed you home yet?"

"You have not," Sun replied. "It's nice to be back."

The vox chatter was rapid and confusing. The penal troops had just been sent forward. The fighting was fearsome across the entire front. Behind the main line of resistance, the entire hive-city was wreathed in smoke. The smoke concentrated on the spire itself, creating a huge, dark mushroom shaped cloud that spanned up to twenty thousands of meters into the air, right to the edge of space itself. Some thought the hire-spire was on fire. Others muttered dark magic was at work. Whatever it was, the clouds cast a city wide shadow and decreased visibility the closer one got to the hive-spire. The men on the ground did not like fighting in the shadow, the commissars were hard at work keeping up morale.

The first rank of Vultures powered forward. Spear squadron moved into Warbird's location and Ugly squadron moved into theirs. The ruined city walls were three kilometers away.

"How do you fancy being down there today? I bet they'll be tasting copper by the bucket load," Jonah said to Sun.

Sun thought for a few moments before answering. "You know what? I think you've made me soft. I missed this seat, well not this actual seat," Sun said. The previous seat had been so saturated in blood, it had been taken out and thrown away. Sun's current seat was brand new and still smelled of leather and flame retardant chemicals.

Jonah laughed. "Yeah right. The way I heard it, you were trying to get a permanent gig on a Valk."

"Nonsense," Sun scoffed, "whoever said that will be trying to get _my_ seat for themselves. As absolutely _everyone_, wants to fly with Ignis Jonah." His sarcasm obvious.

Spear Squadron moved off, engines glowing bright in the gloom. Ugly moved forward to the main starting line. The city was two kilometers off, hazy and ill-defined. The fighting was fierce all along the front. Vultures buzzed around, weapons unleashing a storm of lethal munitions.

"I don't like that cloud," Sun said.

"Me either. Keep your eyes on the ground through."

"Thanks for reminding, I've never operated a Vulture before …" Sun retorts was never finished. Before anyone had a chance to react, black dagger-shaped objects darted from the huge black mushroom cloud. Three Vultures were been blown from the sky.

"Fast movers!" screamed Captain Times into the all-aircraft vox channel. Then he and his co pilot were torn apart in a hail of autocannon fire.

"Vultures scatter! All points of the compass!" bellowed Zelekin, followed by a string of profanities.

**~ IV ~**

How they got there, no one knew, but they had been hiding in the upper atmosphere, cloaked in thick smoke. Ten jet-black daggers, each shaped like an elongated **Y**. Hell Blades. Chaos interceptors. They came straight for the comparatively slow and clumsy VTOL crafts at over twenty-five hundred kilometers per hour, twice the speed of sound. They brought chaos with them.

Like a flock of birds disturbed by a pouncing cat, each gunship bolted. Flying in whichever direction it deemed safest. The Vultures were no match whatsoever for the speedy interceptors. Standard protocol for such an event was for each craft to flee on its own, forcing the enemy to split its forces apart.

The paired teams of Hell Blades lazily drifted in a large circuit, then smoothly parted ways themselves, each dread-aircraft turning to hunt its own prey.

_Sunfire_ bucked as Jonah slammed on the afterburners. He dove low and ducked between two buildings. Sun's head whipped back and forth, watching the growing number of dirty explosions that were once Imperial aircraft.

The attack had been so sudden, no one knew what to do. Vultures and Valkyries were being knocked out the air with shocking easy. The Chaos air-fighters were a terror to behold. Zelekin screamed at Aeolus Squadron to get Navy interceptors into the air.

Aeolus never responded.

How the Chaos fighters escaped the Navy's sensors would be scrutinized for years to come. How they avoided the sweeping scanners of Aeolus Squadron was discovered much sooner. They had all been the primary targets during the Hell Blades first lethal dive.

**~ V ~**

"Viper bird, Viper come in," Sun called out. _Sunfire_ was low to the ground, hovering a few meters from the roadway. They were hiding deep within the unsafe city. A brown gloom hung all around them. Another Vulture had been hovering nearby, until a line of shots tore from the dark sky and shredded its wings. The Viper bird dropped the last few meters to the ground with a heavy crash.

"Viper Three here. We're down for good. We'll go to ground. Get clear Ugly," came a pained voice over the vox.

"Negative, _Cobra_. We're getting you. Move arse, pilot!" Sun demanded.

"Get out of here!" the pilot yelled, then the vox was silent. The canopies popped open and two aviators climbed down, ditchbags in hands. They ran off into the city.

Jonah powered forwards, staying low. "Ugly One, you watch our backs, I'm going in to get them," Jonah said into the squadron vox.

"Be quick!" Odavos's craft rose up from a nearby street, rotating a complete circle.

"Aye," he said.

Jonah put down hard near Viper Three, letting the landing skids absorb the shock. The two Viper airmen, turned and looked back. Sun popped his canopy open, waved his hand wildly, and threw down straps. He quickly snapped the canopy shut. The two pilots, Wynne and Muddle, exchanged looks the sprinted back. They scooped up the straps and raced for different landing skids.

In Guard terminology this maneuver was call Vulture Emergency Extract Routine or VEER. Standing on the landing skids, with only a thin strap wrapped around a small welded u-bar was a terrifying place to be. The unfortunate person was a meter from the vector-jets, two from the rocket pods and four meters from the autocannons. All pilots trained for it, though few ever thought they would ever need it.

"Get out of there!" screamed Odavos. Jonah looked up, _Big One's_ autocannons blasted the nearby sky.

"Keep them off us," replied Sun.

Glancing left and right, Jonah looked back and willed them to hurry up. The two Viper airmen buckled themselves tightly to the landing assembly, and flashed thumbs up.

Jonah slammed the pedals and flew like a maniac, pushing _Sunfire_ to maximum speed. Once he had cleared the buildings, he dove towards a nearby water canal, hoping it would allow him a chance to get away unseen.

"Ones on us," said Sun, surprisingly calm.

"Where?" Jonah asked, swinging the Vulture into a serpentine flight path.

"Auspex is having trouble tracking them," Sun said. He swung his head around, trying to see better. "Eight o'clock high, moving onto our six." He glanced at his instrument panel, "Maybe, seventeen hundred meteres and closing very fast. It'll have us in … less then twenty seconds."

"We can't out run them," Jonah said.

"Then hide us."

"Like where?"

"I don't know, _you're_ the clever one," Sun's voice was becoming strained.

Further down the large water channel Jonah saw an iron bridge - ten lanes of dark iron, heavy rockcrete and ornate gargoyles. Thirty meters above the river. That'd do, he thought.

As he passed over the bridge Jonah sharply turned the Vulture ninety-degrees to the left, titling the whole aircraft on its axis, he gave the vector-jets a quick tap to kill forward momentum and knocked the big engine's power to zero percent. Gracefully, though quickly, the aircraft dropped from the sky.

As they fell Jonah looked up. From the tilted angle he watched the Hell Blade power towards him through the top window. In a second he'd be lined up and killed by those terrible cannons. He saw the four cannons discharge, tongues of white fire tearing out. He swore he saw the actual shells, like blacked bird talons.

Then it was lost to sight by the flashing image of the heavy iron bridge. Jonah slammed on the vectors and rocked the Vulture to the left, brutally powering the aircraft sideways under the bridge. He used one set of vector-jets to keep them hovering, and the other to push them sideways. It was an unconventional maneuver and _Sunfire_ groaned in protest.

Over the sound of his engines roaring distorting echo, Jonah heard the Hell Blade's cannons pummel the bridge above. Sun saw a dozen rounds splashed into the river to their right.

Jonah didn't, he was keenly staring left. He kept powering sideways, emerging for under the bridge just as the Hell Blade rocketed passed.

Jonah didn't hesitate. He whipped around, pushed the throttle to full, and ducked between two nearby buildings.

**~ VI ~**

"Ig, what exactly are we doing?" Sun asked.

"I'm going to try and kill that bastard."

"Yeah, you've said that. What I meant was, why are we doing _this_." Sun gestured to their current landing spot. _Sunfire_ was preached at a steep angle atop the cupola tower of the massive Templum Immortalus. His forward landing skid was rammed up against the edge of the great dome. His wing skids held the body up. The green of the verdigris dome helped hide the aircraft from prying eyes.

_Sunfire_ had never looked more like vulture then it did now, perched and lurking on a building top - hungry for a kill.

The two terrified Viper crew had unbuckled themselves and had climbed unsteadily onto the very roof of the temple. They had not spoken a word since surviving Jonah's flying while strapped to landing skids.

"What I need is for one them is to come to us. Any thoughts?" Jonah asked, ignoring Sun's question.

"Ignis this is ridiculous …"

"Throne damn it, Balor! They're picking us off one by one!" spat Jonah. They didn't know how many had been lost so far. They operated a vox-silence for fear the chaos air-fighters could pick up their signals and locate them. "We've got to do something!"

"Alright, calm yourself," Sun replied gruffly, not pleased to be snarled at by Jonah. "If you want one to fly under us, we're going to need bait."

"Yeah?" Jonah said.

"Watch and learn," Sun said and fiddled with the vox. "Ugly Four here, in need of a mouse for the cats. Hound stand ready."

The vox hummed and buzzed in silence.

"I'll do it," came a quick reply. It was Pegoud. "Where do you need me?"

"You see the big temple. Get it to pass near there. Around the backyard."

"Copy," the vox link snapped off.

"Bless her stony heart and iron knickers," Jonah muttered. They had their rabbit,_ Red Star_ would be bait.

_Red Star_ blazed in hot, followed lazily by an almost bored looking Hell Blade. The dread-craft spat out the occasional burst of rounds, playing with the slow VTOL. _Red Star_ was bleeding smoke when she dove behind the temple, flashing below Jonah and Sun. Once the Hell Blade lost sight of the Vulture it sped up, keen to finish off its prey. It neared supersonic speed, moving blindingly fast, as it passed around the temple's vast flank.

Jonah tapped on the vector-jets, pushed _Sunfire_ off the cupola and drifted out. Sun called out auspex readings every two seconds. Hidden by a gigantic flying-buttress, he lined up where he thought the dread-craft would pass when the rockets exploded. He breathed out sharply, counted two seconds, and fired.

Twenty flechette rockets flew for the pods underwing. Two hundred meters from the craft the rocket-casings cracked apart and eight hundred adamantium darts, traveling faster than the speed of sound, covered an area three hundred square meters wide. Like was like trying to hit a speeding hummingbird with buckshot.

By some miracle, or perhaps the Emperor's Own blessing, Jonah's shot had beyond all probability hit its target.

The chaos aircraft flew through the hail of darts. At first it didn't look like the craft had been damaged at all. However, after a few seconds it titled slightly to the right, lost altitude and crashed into an abandon hab-block. The darts' damage was subtle in appearance but complete in function.

**~ VII ~**

Jonah had downed the first Hell Blade. A second, lost to hunt-madness, followed the Talon Squadron Vulture over a battery of Hydras. The Gibson anti-aircraft men made short work of the Hell Blade. The Gibsons scored another kill, and the final Chaos aircraft were met and destroyed by Navy-flown Lighting interceptors, nearly an hour after their first appearance.

Though small in number, the ten Hell Blades impact was noticeable. They attacked the tightly massed and over confident Imperial flyers. They cost the Imperials over fifty aircraft, including all of Aeolus squadron - six irreplaceable Aquila's with six specialized crewmen each. One hundred and ninety-one souls were lost in less than an hour. The 99th had lost its bite, and wasn't to be the force multiplier Zelekin had claimed. His star had fallen. Draco had refused to see him for three weeks after the incident, now being called the Dread-Hour.

**~ VIII ~**

It was over for them. The War of Liberation was complete. Though true liberation for the people of Morgan's World was a long time coming, and it would have nothing to do with the men from Beligarso. That responsibility fell to other Imperial powers. Twenty thousand Arbites from around the subsector were enroute. Furthermore, two sinister Inquisition Blackships already floated in orbit, ready to discharge their holy duties.

In an observation lounge aboard the Galaxy class transport _Iron Dragonfly_ two Beligarso officers looked handsome and distinguished in their number-one dark green dress uniforms and black berets with yellow sunflower badge caps. Morgan's World spun slowly before them. Ignis Jonah asked, "How many birds did we lose?"

"During the campaign?" Flem Odavos enquired, fiddling with his shoulder piping and chest ribbons.

"Yeah."

"Ten Vultures and over forty Valks. Though, fifty-five were during the Battle of Morgania alone."

"Throne above, that many? I hadn't realized …" Jonah trailed off. "That battle was a complete nightmare."

"Yeah … it was."

Jonah braced his hands to each side of the porthole, scrutinizing the world. He said eventually, "Well, I for one, I'm glad to be going home."

**~ IX ~**

Jonah and Sun walked back to Jonah's small, but private quarters aboard the Iron Dragonfly. The ceremony had been impressive.

As Jonah had walked out the chamber he felt someone grab his elbow lightly. He looked around and said, "Yes?"

A dark-skinned man wear the formal greys of a Cex stood next to him. He stared at Jonah without saying a word.

Jonah tilted his head slightly, then said, "Uzoh!"

The Cex smiled and stuck out his hand. Jonah took to firm and shook it. He looked down and saw Uzoh place his other on their conjoined hands. It was clean, dull metal. Uzoh nodded to him and said, "Thank you."

Jonah nodded back. Uzoh let his hands go and turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

Sun leaned over asked, "What was that all about?"

Jonah said, "Nothing, just an old friend checking in on me." Jonah thought about the scowl Uzoh had given him the last time he saw him - being wheeled out of the hospital, data-slate in hand. On the slate was the funds for the bionics limbs Uzoh had desperately wanted, but was afraid he won't get. Jonah had paid for them.

After the ceremony Sun accompanied Jonah to his quarters. They still wore their number one dress greens, though they'd pulled off their jackets, and dress tunics. They had pulled their bracers around their waists and sat around in their dark green vest-top and dress trousers. Both had slipped off their shiny dress shoes to get more comfortable. Sun uncorked a bottle of vrackie and filled two metal cups.

He passed a cup over and said, "Nice digs."

"Yeah," Jonah said, looking around. "It's not much, but it beat sleeping in the troop barracks." Much to Jonah's delight his quarters even had a tiny porthole, about the size of tea saucer, which was open during transit in real-space.

Sun replied, "It only seems decent that a decorated flight officer warrant a private berth."

They clinked cup and drank.

As Sun refilled their cups, he said, "It's been a good campaign for you, Ignis."

"You might say that," Jonah smiled, taking another large drink.

"Come on, it's not like you to be modest. Your own room. Your Captaincy. Getting your own squadron. And that …," Sun nodded to the glimmering medal on Jonah's pillow. A beautiful golden cross with red-stone set in the middle.

The Macharian Cross. One of the most lauded medals within the Imperial Guard. Jonah was the first Beligarso in recorded history to earn it. He had been given it during the great ceremony they had just attended. Shooting down the Hell Blade with flechette rockets was feat so extraordinary, General Draco pinned the medal to his chest personally. The Astarte Captain had even taken a moment of his time to shake Jonah's hand. He couldn't decide which left more of an impression, the Macharian Cross or the touch of an Emperor's own Space Marine.

Jonah picked up the medal, rolled it around in his hand, thinking deeply. After a long moment he looked at Sun and said, "We've lost a lot of friends."

Sun frowned and looked out the porthole above Jonah's head-board. He said solemnly, "Noel Kimble, Bak Parrish, Dezbet Meville, and Silvio Caldwell."

Jonah added softly, "And Yan Hooker."

They drank to their honor.

Jonah laid the medal back down. He said, "It hasn't been bad tour for you either. Aside of having the pleasure of flying with me, you did get that." Jonah used his toe to tap the small wooden box in Sun's hands.

Sun nodded. He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. He looked down at the small wooden box and slowly eased the top open.

Shiny and silver, two freshly minted Lieutenant pins. His. He'd finally gotten his own bird.


	12. Fledglings

**Vultures of the Imperium, Volume II**

**Fledglings  
**

**Chapter XI**

**::::**

"_Question: What has the Emperor ever done for me?  
Answer: What have you ever done for the Emperor?"  
_-Administratum Cant and Dogma

**::::**

Ignis Jonah stepped off a landing shuttle and onto the concourse walkway. He fell to his knees and passed his lips to the worn, cold metal deck and breathed a prayer to the metal.

"Out the way, _pilgrim_," said Odavos as he shoved passed, knocking Jonah to ground.

"Steady," Jonah grumbled.

"Sorry, puke-stain," the commander jeered, "I've got a shuttle to catch. I'm not going to waste a minute of my leave having to walk around your sorry arse." He trotted quickly away, his carry-all bag strapped to his back, purity seals flapping like wings.

"Puke!" Jonah called after him, as Sun helped him to his feet. Other aviators strolled past, holding kit bags and coats; Odavos's number two Macer, smirked and patted them on the backs as he passed. The troublesome Wind and the talented Weaver gave knuckle-taps and promises to meet up in a few weeks time. The stern-faced Pegoud walked by without so much as looking at Jonah. Her second, the blond-haired beauty Madon, stopped for a moment and gave both Jonah and Sun big, sloppy kisses.

She was kissing everyone.  
They grinned and looked around.

They were finally home.

Beligarso.

Flower of the Sector.

Home.

**::::**

Segmentum Obscurus, Dion Sector, Reap World Subsector. Spinward on Perseus Arm, tucked away between the Eye of Terror, the Gothic Sector and the great interstellar void between galactic arms. The Beligarso system, was nestled deep in the middle of the Reap Worlds subsector, a collection of very productive Agri-Systems, whom combined generate nine percent of the Segmentum's food stock.

Compared to some other systems the entire population of the Beligarso Star System could fit into one hive, with room to spare - less than a billion across Beligarso, and just over four billion across an established system of seven planets and fifty-six moons. Besides Beligarso and its single moon, Tura, the system's other stellar bodies where four atmosphereless rocks, two gas giants, and an ocean world.

The closest to the sun was Comet, an uninhabited super-heated glowing orb made of near pure iron. Secondly was Clamp, named for the planet-spanning mining rigs. The rigs annually pulled thousands of tons of ore from the perilous planets' unique tectonic plates. Between the second and third planets was a vast field of debris, the so-called Clamp Spoil Trail. Clamp's atmosphere and gravity was very heavy and the Mechicanus found it easier sucked the rock to orbit, sorted it for valuable ore and returned the rest to the planet. However, the separation process left a trail of planetary debris trailing Clamp.

Third planet in the system was the barren and dusty rock-ball, Seth. The planet was dotted with hundreds of huge, black-tinted hydroponic domes, making the planet resembled a multi-faceted insect's eye. Beligarso was forth in the system.

Further out, the other four bodies were two storm wracked gas giants, Romulus and Remus, which were pumped for gases and liquids. Between them they had a collection of four dozen satellites of various size, some of interest to the Imperium, others not.

The final stellar body was Sedna; a frozen, rocky world with vast liquid methane oceans. Furthest out of the system were the Pods, a collect of jagged ice rocks that ringed the system. They were the remains of another planet, destroyed millions of years previous.

Planet Beligarso, often called the Free World of Beligarso, was no more free than any other planet in the Imperium of Mankind. Bound as it was by the same laws, same faith. What set the Beligarso apart from the norm was the fact that it was allow to be. It had no Imperial tithe. The beauty of Beligarso was enough of a payment. Considered a playground by the Sector's, and the Segmentum's, elite. They came to enjoy the natural beauty of the planet, with its many areas untouched by the hands of man. Some of the Imperium's wealthiest maintained homes there.

Beligarso had two huge main continents, Fornix and Sarten. Fornix was shaped like a vast crescent, and stretched south and east, then final north. Humicola, the largest land city on the planet sat aside the great river, Seaborne. Many small towns surround the city and it was center for commerce and trade for the continent. Sarten was shaped like an anvil, with its western coastline covered in thousands of fjords. Thousands of islands were shattered along its lengthy coastline. The main city was the sleepy, old town of Propiano. Sarten was a quiet place, but had an undercurrent of trouble. A small, but active separatist movement had been causing trouble for hundreds of years. Mostly graffiti and minor property damage, it was nevertheless an embarrassment to the authorities.

Where the two continents met was a small body of water, less than a three kilometers wide at its narrowest, the so-called Straits of Glory. Above those blue waters was Haven, the famed floating city.

Haven was the capital of Beligarso and home to Planetary Governor, Godian Thrax. While Thrax ruled Beligarso, it was the System's Administrix, Lexandra Shada, who oversaw the system's contributions to the Imperium.

Haven was also home to the representatives of the most of the Imperial Offices; including the vast Office of Commander of the Imperial Guard and Planetary Defense Forces, the contrastingly small Imperial Navy office. A Ministorum Cardinal and a small Ecclesisarch force of Sororites were housed in the Temple of the Soul. A Marshall of the Adeptus Arbites and his black-carapaced Judges enforced the _Lex Imperalis_ from the Black Barracks. Ensconced high in the Star Tower a collection of Astropaths were overseen by the shadowy members of Ordo Herecticus. Though the system's Mechanicus stronghold was on located on Clamp, they did maintained an impressive workshop-temple dedicated to the complex and not-entirely-understood machinery that kept Haven aloft.

The men and women of the Beligarso Imperial Guard fought for the distance Lords of Terra as their duty to their home-world, Imperium, and God-Emperor of Mankind dictated. Most fought free of will, and they fought hard to save their world. Their greatest fear was losing their home world to the savagery of Xenos, taint of Mutants, or corruption of Heretics. Their second greatest fear was seeing Beligasro turned into some world-ruining hive planet ruled by distance tyrants.

**::::**

The men and women of the 99th strolled down the tunnel-like concourse and turned into a departure lounge. A wave of cheering and shouting blasted them. Dozens, hundreds of Beligarso families and friends waved flags, aquilas and garlands of flowers.

Men rushed to wives, sons rushed to parents, fathers rushed to children. Tears fell freely from everyone.

Jonah rose onto his toes, looked around for his family. He spotted a woman sporting his family nose. He yelled and rushed over to her. The women noticed him at the last second and screamed with delight. Jonah grabbed her around the waist and twirled her in the air.

They hugged tightly. Soon two more pairs of arms wrapped around them, and all four fell into a heap onto the floor. There was laughter and tears of joy, hugs and kisses.

They climbed to their feet and looked at one another. The four were very obviously siblings, spanning about ten years in age. Each was olive-skinned and black-haired. They all sported the Jonah family nose, strong and beaky.

"Iggy, Iggy," cried the oldest of the sisters, patting him on face, "Thank the Emperor!"

Jonah smiled, "Throne above I'm glad to see you all." He wrapped his arms around his sisters again.

Sun squeezed through the press of jubilant people and strolled up. He smiled.

"Ah," Jonah said, "Let me introduce you all to Balor Sun. Balor, these are my sisters, Celestia, Astoria, and Constellia."

Jonah paused and stared at his youngest sister, "Thone, Constellia, look how big you are. And so gorgeous! You're a real heartbreaker aren't you?"

Constellia smiled brightly, "Runs in the family," and wrapped her arms around her brother. Jonah kissed her head repeatedly.

Sun nodded, "Ignis has talked about you all. A pleasure to finally meet you."

Constellia wiggled out of her brother's arms and walked confidently to Sun. She stretched out her hand. Sun took it and she shook it firmly, and she said, "Iggy, I thought you said he was ugly."

"No, Tely, Ugly … _UGLY_. Though he is ugly too."

Astoria and Celestia both gave Sun kisses on his cheeks and introduced themselves. Celestia turned and waved a man forward. Two small boys hung to his legs, "Iggy, meet Patric Book, my husband. And these two," she paused to scoop up one of the children, "are your nephews. Little Avery here and Follo down there."

"Nice to meet you Patric. I've heard a lot about you," Jonah said, shaking hands with his brother-in-law. The man was tall and handsome and wore a smart suit and thin spectacles on his nose. He smiled politely, "Don't believe a word she says."

The nephews were three years old and obviously frightened be all the clamor. Jonah squatted down and looked at Follo, "I'm your uncle Ignis, nice to meet you."

Little Follo stretched out his arms and wrapped them around Jonah's neck. Jonah stood up, holding Follo tightly. He looked at his family, tears in his eyes again, overcame with emotion he squeaked, "Let's get out of here."

Book waved down a shuttle-cab and all seven piled in, Sun stood around unsure for moment, until Jonah leaned out of the shuttle and said, "Balor, what the frak you doing?"

Sun shrugged.

Jonah jumped out of the shuttle and grabbed Sun by the elbow. "Get in," he said, directing him, "You need to meet your family properly."

Celestia and Patric Book and their two children lived in the upper levels of Haven. That was where they went. Set on the upper-west side of the Haven's Gold Level, the Book home was fabulous. Even Jonah, who had grown up in a well-off family, was surprised how expansive the housestead was. Sun was complete taken aback. His childhood amongst the farmers and shed-homes in Dice hadn't prepared him for anything like this.

After complimenting Book on his home, Sun asked what he did for a living. The man modestly said he was doctor. Then suddenly Jonah slapped his hands together and remembered, "Patric is the High Surgeon of Beligarso. Amongst his myriad responsibilities he looked after the health and wellbeing of our beloved planetary Governor and her highness The Administarix."

Sun nodded, even more impressed.

The Book's home had six large bedrooms and an enormous common area which included a large kitchen and seating room, as well as a spacious veranda, and an impressive library. They settled in for the night. Astoria, a doctor herself, and Patric quickly got into a medical debate, while Sun and Constellia chatted about the season's crushball results. She was an avid sports fan and herself a professional dancer for the Imperial Haven Ballet. Sun looked impressed by her wit and insightful comments. Jonah played color-blocks with his two nephews on floor. Celestia stood in the kitchen, watching her family and crying softly.

Dinner was a comic-tragedy. Jonah and Sun insisted on cooking a meal for the whole family. Celestia argued fiercely that it her home, her kitchen, and that she was going to cook them a meal. The two guardsmen stood their ground. Eventually Celestia was talked down, with the help of two glasses of Patric's hard-to-come-by _770 _vrackie, and was ushered out of the kitchen.

Once the two men had the kitchen to themselves they talked in hushed tones and clattered pots and pans. It occurred to them, that they really didn't know how to cook a family meal. Sun was more adept in the kitchen, and could make a mean Slab-based fry-up, but that wasn't going to be enough. Not with the Jonah sisters' casting suspicious looks into the kitchen, and muttering amongst themselves.

Beligarso's took great pride in the food they cooked. Their regiments were reputed to have the best chefs, and therefore the best meals, in the sub-sector. Jonah and Sun knew they had to make it count. Murder, while extremely rare, did occasionally happen when one 'Garso insults another's 'Garso's cooking. The two guardsmen reviewed their resources, analyzed the enemy's disposition, and settled on an attack plan. They went to work.

"My, my, this is an excellent meal, Balor," Jonah said, "Marvelous texture! Are you sure you aren't a secret chef?"

"Why thank you Ignis, such a gracious compliment, I do not deserve! But really, you should be complimenting yourself. Your starters were to die for," Sun said, slipping food into his mouth.

They all had gathered around the low table in the common room and sat on cushions on the floor. Plates and bowls of hot pastos and various sauces spread across its glass surface. Soft music played in the background. The tele-picter was on, displaying a colorful child's programme for the two young nephews. Patric's bottle of _770 _was almost gone, much to his dismay.

Celestia frowned and complained that her pastos was twice as good as this and the boys should have let her cook some up.

Patric smiled and joked, "If we had let you, we'd not be eating until tomorrow." The two aviators had cunningly ordered in food from the local pastos establishment. With the timing of combat aviators on a bombing running, Jonah ran a diversionary maneuver while Sun stealthed out of the housestead unseen to collect the food. It was more difficult getting him back in unnoticed, but the two succeeded with a little misdirection. Jonah got the two little ones dancing and when everyone else joined in, he slipped away and let Sun back in.

Celestia swore under her breath at Patric's joke, and that made everyone laugh. She so rarely used foul language. Jonah covered little Avery's ears, "Naughty!" he hissed at her.

"So," Astoria asked, "what's the plan for you two? How long do we have you?"

Jonah spoke with a mouth full of food, "We've got three months leave, then it's back to our labor of love. I have no idea when, not if, we'll ship off planet again. But in the meantime, I want to sleep, eat and play with my new nephews."

**::::**

After few days sleeping and relaxing in the warm sun, Constellia demanded that they go out dancing. Jonah and Sun, and the three sisters, put on fine clothes and jumped into a shuttle-cab. Patric and the children waved them off from the doorway.

As paradise world natives, the Beligarso people had a chance to avail themselves to luxury activities that many in the Imperium would not understand, such as fine cooking and dance for pleasure. The first club they went to wasn't up to Constellia's exacting standard and was quickly abandoned after one drink and quick scoot across the dance floor. If wasn't until the fourth club, and well into the morning, that Constellia declared, "This is it. Let's dance!" By this time Astoria and Celestia, the conscientious doctor and tired mother, had retired home.

The music thumped loudly and the room was hot and sweaty. The place was dark, lit only by strobing multi-color glow-bulbs. It smelled of cheap alcohol, body order, and perfume. Jonah loved the dance-halls. He had spent many nights of his youth prowling the seedy dance-halls on Red Level. He was a dancing machine, and easily kept pace with his free-spirited, wildly dancing sister. Sun, with his bionic foot was less able but no less confident. He was farm boy and had grown up having dances in barns and fields. Though the big man enjoyed himself, he wasn't going to win any dancing competitions with his stiff and awkward moves.

As Constellia danced with Sun, laughing as she showed him the newest steps and moves, Jonah worked his way around the room. His eyes darted from face to face. Ah, there's one, he thought.

He danced his way over to a nice young lady with dark, curly hair and brown skin.

He made eye contact and smiled. She smiled back. Jonah leaned in close to her ear and shouted over the music, "Hi!" Up close, she smelled of citrus.

"Hi, yourself!"

"Wanna dance?"

She looked him up and down and said, "Sure!"

When Jonah woke the next morning, for the briefest moment he thought he was still in the dance-hall, his brain thumped in tune with his ringing ears. Morning light illuminated the clean room, the bright white linen. He glanced over and saw half an empty bed, the sheets rumpled and pillow flattened. Jonah stretched out his neck and eased his head over. He smelt the pillow. It smelt of citrus. He smiled and rolled onto his back. What a girl she had been, he wished he could remember her name.

A few hours later Jonah stumbled down the stairs into the lounge. He looked terrible. Book sat at the kitchen counter reading the morning's broadsheets. Jonah nodded and grinned at him as he slumped onto a stool.

Book got up and fetched him a cup of caffeine. He said, "Met your … eh, friend … earlier. She seemed nice."

Jonah took the cup and sipped gratefully, "Throne, I needed that." He looked at Book and smiled, "My friend, eh. She was a naughty girl."

"Oh?"

"Yup. In more ways then one," he took another sip of caff. "You know what, Patric. I don't mind paying for sex, really I don't. I don't feel bad about it either. But I'm more than a little offended that she stole my wallet."

Book laughed and sputtered caffeine across the table top. Jonah laughed too.

Once he was done chuckling, Jonah said, "I would have given her the money, if she'd have asked."

"Was it a lot?" Book said and wiped his chin. He got up and refilled his cup from the pot.

"No, not really. My Guard card was in there, though. That'll be a pain to replace. I'll have to get med-work done."

"Come round to my office this afternoon. I'll do it for you and get Dale to process it post-haste."

"Dale?"

"Doctor Dalemont Waller, head of Guard Medical Services. The chief sawbones for you Guard types."

**::::**

"Your blood work should be done by tomorrow afternoon. You should get your new papers in a few days."

"Thanks Patric, you're really doing me a favor," Jonah said, rolling down his sleeve. Doctor Book conducted the medical work in a simple clinic room at St Erasmus's Hospital.

"Not a problem at all, Ignis. We're family after all," Book said, pulling off latex gloves with a snap. "Celestia said you've been complaining about back pain. May I ask what the problem is?"

"Had me a bad crash on Morgan's World. Really did my back in. I went under the knife and they fixed me up wonderfully, but it's always aches."

"Are you taking anything for it?"

"Aside from sex, booze and contraband narcotics?"

Book gave him a stern look. In this room he was a doctor first, and a family member a distance second.

Jonah shook his head quickly.

"Mind if I have a look?" Book said.

"No, not at all," Jonah said. He stood up and pulled off his tunic and turned around. Patric lowered his face to Jonah's back, looking closely. It was coated in thick, old scars. Several ran down into his trousers. "Damnation man! Who worked on you, a doctor or a butcher?"

"I think he might have been a veterinarian," Jonah joked.

"I'm going to have a word with Dale. Guard surgeons just aren't what they used to be. Take off your trousers and unders and lay on the table, stomach side down."

"But Doc, we haven't even had drinks yet," Jonah joked. He dropped his clothes and hoped on the table.

Book detached a device from the wall. He waved it slowly over Jonah's legs, buttocks and lower back. Jonah said, "Seeing as you've got me in a compromising situation, Patric, tell me a little about yourself."

The doctor continued to wave the device as he talked, "Me? Hmm … from Underside originally. My old man was a preacher down there. Growing up down there was pretty rough. I had a lot of … issues. I wanted out as quickly as I could. Joined the Haven Defense Force. I was assigned as a medic's assistant and watching the doctors' work inspired me. After my service commitments were met and I was out, I applied for med school. And now, here I am."

"Here you are now? Patric, you do yourself a disservice. You're the foremost doctor on the planet. You couldn't have gotten there without a big brain and goody amount of guts."

"True. I've work hard, that's for sure, and the Emperor has watched over me as well."

Jonah made a thoughtful face and asked, "How did you meet Lessy?"

"Through Astoria actually. She was my intern during her first year here at St. Erasmus's. She thought Celestia might fancy me. Lucky for me, she did."

"How do you find the Jonah girls?" Jonah asked, smiling knowingly.

Book returned the device to wall and tapped a display screen quickly. An x-ray of Jonah's lower-half appeared on a wall screen. He looked at Jonah and opened his eyes wide and chuckled, "They're something else. You're a lucky man, Ignis. I would have liked to have met your mother and father. Shame though."

Jonah nodded, both his parents were dead. He father had died while serving with the Sixth Aero-Rifles on Bozities IV twenty years previous and his mother had passed away quietly in her sleep, about ten years past.

"Put your cloths on and come look at this," Book said. He adjusted his glasses and looked closely at the black and white images and said, "See here, the blackness is the new plates. These lines, that's where the pain is coming from, they're gaps in the muscle growth. How long did they give you recover? A month?"

"About six weeks."

Book nodded, "Normally, I recommend at least six months, otherwise the muscles don't grow back properly. Strength is diminished and the disks move around more than they should, causing inflammation and general pain. I could give you some chems to encourage muscle growth, but at this stage they'll have a minimum effect."

"So I'm stuck with the puking back ache forever?"

"Unless you want to undergo another major surgery?"

"Nah," Jonah waved his hand at the x-ray, "I'm fine as I am."

**::::**

For a Guardsman with no responsibilities and money to spend Haven was a wonderful place to be. Jonah and Sun lived it up. They were like naughty school-boys, causing trouble and mischief. They met up with some comrades-in-arms, enjoyed a Mystery Tour with Wind. They ran into a few old friends from Jonah's childhood, they partied hard.

They slept late and ate great. Outside of sleeping and eating, and almost daily visits to the Imperial Theatre or the holo-picts cinema, shopping was the major time consumer. The two aviators had years of back-pay built up and had had very little to spend it on. Haven put major dents into their personal coffers. The best shopping was Silver Level, and namely the Avenue of Worlds. A two kilometer long concourse with _Terra_ at one end and _Mars_ the other, and between them were over two thousand shoppes, each dedicated to a different planet in the Imperium. Truly, a shopper's paradise.

It was one of the greatest collections of consumer goods in all the Imperium.

In _Nercomunda_ there were hundreds of thousands of blades. Jonah spent nearly an entire day trying to find the only two matching blades to win a prize. He failed and settled for buying Celestia a new set of cooking knives.

Sun purchased the young Constellia a coral necklace from _The Pearl Moon_. Jonah thought it was quite an expensive, and surprisingly intimate gift, considering they hadn't known each other very long. But dismissed the thought when Sun revealed the other gifts he had purchased.

For Astoria, he presented her with a collection of original medical-philosophy tomes penned on Ophelia VII, _Radius_, by the famed healer Sister Curia. For Book he had managed to find a first-batch _770 _vrackie from a renowned Fornixian distillery. For Celestia he found an antique frame made of colored Tallarn glass and artfully mounted picts of all her family. He even managed to squeeze in a pict of himself, alongside Jonah. For the two small nephews, he gave them little metal replica Vultures to play with.

Jonah was handed a handsome knife. A stiletto thin blade made for dark Necoromunda steel. When Jonah saw it in the shoppe, he commented off-handily how much he liked it. Sun had noted it and purchased it when he wasn't around. "Sneaky bastard," muttered Jonah.

His thoughtful gifts shamed Jonah, who hadn't really thought about anyone. He ran, literally ran, out to get everyone gifts. A day later, he returned with a set of Valhallan Tanna leaf tea cups for Celestria. A golden armband craved to resemble a Catachan Black Viper for Constellia. To go along with her new tomes Astoria received a new, delicate-looking, black and shiny auto-scriber, manufactured on Mars itself. Book found himself delighted with another bottle of hard to come by _770_, along with the final few missing albums to his Modian Iron Guard marching tunes collections.

For his two young nephews, he gave an ornate card to Celestia. She opened it and read the message. She cried softly at the thoughtfulness of it. It was note of love and thanks and wellbeing, and a promise to stay home and watch the kids for a few days so that she and Book could have a quiet vacation together. Included in the card were two tickets to the luxurious spa-town of Llanewell Wells.

And so as to not leave Sun out, he returned with a gift for him as well. It was giant, inflatable replica of male genitalia.

**::::**

It was hot in the valley. So very hot. The sun-warmed air was still and the insects chipped and sang, buzzed and zipped. Jonah leaned out of the big-wheeled electromobile's window and squinted down the long, dirt road. "I think it's this way," he said.

"We're lost, you idiot," Sun replied, looked backwards through the four-wheeler. The trunk was covered in camping and fishing equipment, crates of food and bottles of water sat on the back seats.

"Ah, _actually_," Jonah said obnoxiously, "you're the navigator."

Sun grumbled for a bit while he flipped the map around, "Well, we can't be far now," he grunted.

Jonah pressed the accelerator and engine buzzed loudly, and they moved slowly down the road. It was a terrible state of disrepair and two bounded around in their seats.

After a few minutes of driving Jonah said, "Shall we ask these guys?" Ahead on the road, waited two men, large packs at their feet.

"If you want to be an infant about it..." Sun muttered sourly. His ego had taken a hit getting them lost. Jonah rolled up to the two men, who stepped back from the small road, "Afternoon," he said out of the window.

Both were older men, well into their forties and robustly build. One look at them and the aviators knew they were soldiers. One man was small, shorter then Jonah and wire-thin. He had the look of Beligarso about him. The other man looked nothing like a 'Garso and was giant sized. At first Jonah thought he might have been an escaped Orgyn from the Haven dockyards. The intelligent eyes put him to right quickly enough.

"Afternoon," said the short man. The giant smiled and nodded.

"We're looking for New Dawn Lake?"said Sun, who had leaned over and squint out at the two men.

"You're headed the right way," the giant said in a deep voice, "another, six, seven kilometers."

"Much obliged," Jonah said. Then he asked, "Where you headed?"

"Same way, but not as far. Only to when this road crosses the one headed to Mount Zoet. We're looking to spend a few days climbing."

"You're welcome to hop on-board, if you like."

The two climbers looked at other and nodded. They tossed their packs onto roof cage and climbed in. The giant sized man had to sit with knees held against his chest.

They buzzed off slowly, and bounced heavily.

Sun turned around and looked back at the two men, "Help yourselves to whatever food or drink you like. We've loads."

They declined politely.

Sun said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but you're Sikney, right, sir?"

The small man smirked and glanced at the giant, "Aye, I am. But please, no autographs. Call me Dorn, we're all on leave here. This beast of a man is Vilnus Septimus, the boss of the Merry Mates of Merity. Who are you boys with?"

Sun said, "We're both with the 99th Aviation Regiment."

Sikney nodded, "Ahh, I salute you." And he did. "You bird-boys were something else during Morgania. Terrible business with those interceptors, though. Terrible."

A few kilometers down the trail, Sikney and Septimus got out. The giant bade them a good journey, while Sikney did a strange dance and called down the old spirits of the valley to help them catch the largest fish in the lake.

As they drove away Jonah muttered, "What a _loon _... the merry-mates of Merity? That man's not flying fully loaded. Could you imagine serving under him? Worst then under Flem, me thinks."

Sun waved to them as they drove off, "I don't know," he said, "I kinda liked him."

**::::**

The two men set up camp on the shore a large, flat lake. To their south the valley opened wide, to their north, it narrowed. East of them was the tall and craggy Spiros mountain range, Mount Zoet the nearest peak. Permanently snow-covered it would make for hard climbing, but the view from the spire would be make all the effort worth it.

Jonah had set up camp and started a small fire, while Sun dug a latrine hole and hung their food from tree branches. It wasn't long before the sun had set and they huddled around the fire, drinking vrackie and eating dried meat. Tura was a quarter full and hung low over the mountains, creeping along the peaks like a grinning cat. A million stars shone over them.

They laughed as they told stories and recounted tales. As the night waned, the conversation turned maudlin. "When can you muster out?" Sun asked.

Jonah thought about it, counting the years in his head, "I've got another ... eight years before my twenty-five are up."

Sun chewed silently for bit then said, "I could muster out now."

"No!" Jonah scoffed, "surely you can't be _that _old?"

"Yup. I complete my two-fivers in a months' time."

"You're an old bastard aren't ya?" Jonah slurred. "Well, are you gonna?"

"What?" Sun replied.

"Muster out? Retire? Maybe find a nice girl to look after you and make you all fat and happy. I've seen the way Constellia looks at you. _And_ the way you look at her."

Sun smiled sheepishly, "Yeah, she's a sweet thing."

"You ehh … being _intimate_ with her?"

Sun looked from across the fire. The light played across his strong, hard face. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be. "Yes," he said simply.

Jonah clapped and whopped, "I knew it! You old dog. She's young enough to be your daughter!" Beligarso's are less bothered then most Imperial citizens when it comes to who is having sex with whom; including, relations between best-friends and sisters. Carnals relations were a popular pastime on the paradise world.

Sun drunkenly held a finger in the air as if to make a point, "Ah ha … but she isn't"

Jonah laughed again. He asked, "So you gonna retire, or what?

"I have no interest in retiring."

"Balor, if you muster out here, on Beligarso, you can live here, your home. If you muster out someplace else, that's where you'll stay. Puke-on-me, I rather die then end up on some stinking Hive world," Jonah said.

Sun shrugged slightly, taking a big slug of vrackie. "Not much for me here. No family of my own. I have no interest in going back to the farms. After fighting the Emperor's Wars, I'd rather not see myself working in a trinket shop selling worthless bobbles. Or worse yet, a hotel, guffawing politely at stupid off-worlder's jokes."

"Surely," Jonah nodded sagely, "a fate worse then death."


	13. Selection and Condemnation

**Chapter XII**

**Selection and Condemnation**

**::::**

"_Strike the first rune upon the engine's casing employing the chosen wrench. Its tip should be anointed with the oil of engineering using the proper incantation when the auspices are correct. Strike the second rune upon the engine's casing employing the arc-tip of the power-driver. If the second rune is not good, a third rune may be struck in like manner to the first. This is done according to the true ritual laid down by Scotti the Enginseer. A libation should be offered. If this sequence is properly observed the engines may be brought to full activation by depressing the large panel marked "ON".  
_-Runic Spaceflight - An Introduction; Naval Flight Manual.

::::

Captain Ignis Jonah and Lieutenant Balor Sun sat in the officer's lounge at Draco Airbase. Leave had been good for them both. Three months of relaxation and rest, and two months of light duties had restored them. Their bronzed skin glowed with health, their eyes were bright and alert, they walked with a handsome vigor. Especially Jonah, who's weak back had had time to finally recover. Sun was looking particularly fit and robust.

The morning sun lit the room and warmed it nicely. A delicately crafted and quietly humming servitor had brought them caffeine and breakfast rolls. The two chatted lightly, discussing matters at hand.

"Have you thought about what you're going to name the squadron?" Sun asked.

Jonah shook his head, shoving half a roll into his mouth, "Nah … hadn't given it much thought until now. Any suggestions?"

"Ugly?" Sun said, grinning.

"Hah! Flem's as likely to give up that name as he is to give up bragging about the number of women he's bagged."

Sun nodded, "Not to likely then, eh." From behind them came a beeping sound. Sun looked over his shoulder, seeing the chronometers on the wall. He turned back to Jonah, "Time for the metal to meet the meat."

Jonah smiled and winked, "This should be interesting."

**::::**

Draco Airbase was located deep in the Fornix countryside and was the 99th's main proving and training grounds. The Imperial Guard airbase was named for the man who led them when they were first founded, Carninova Draco III. It was a vast complex of buildings, hangers, workshop-temples, barracks, classrooms and runways.

On a spot of tarmac, forty-two pilots stood in four neat rows. Dressed in dark green flight-suits they held themselves formally and stiff, eyes locked into the middle-distance.

Sun stood at their head, facing them. Under his fearsome gaze, no one dared move or mutter a word. Jonah walked slowly around the lines. They looked a good bunch. He had high hopes for them.

He made his way back to the front. From there he shouted, "Good morning, pilots!"

"Good morning, sir!" they replied loudly.

Jonah said, "I see you all have nice, shiny flight pins on your collars. Well, take them off. Come on now, get them off."

A few of the pilots looked at one another. All had recently graduated from flight school and were freshly minted flight-lieutenants. The officers had worked six hard months to earn those wings, and that was after six months of basic infantry training.

"I said take them off, now!" Jonah yelled at them. "Lieutenant Sun, collect their pins."

Sun prowled forward, belligerently getting into each pilot's face, snatching pins from hands and yanking them off of collars. Jonah had to suppress a smirk; he had forgotten that Sun had been a former Air-Assault heavy weapons sergeant. These pilots were in for a world a discomfort from the bellicose aviator.

Once he had finished and returned to the captain's side, Jonah said, "Anyone have a problem with that? You there, you look like you have a problem?"

"Sir, yes sir," snapped a handsome young man. "We earned those wings. We're qualified to wear them, you have no right to take them off us."

Jonah smiled, "Is that so, lieutenant … ? "

"Ichthy, sir."

"Ichthy. You're wrong. I have all right to take them off you. Not one of you is qualified to fly _Vulture_ Gunships. Throne, most of you aren't even qualified to look at one. This is AFST, boys and girls, Advanced Flight School and Tactics. Here is where we find and make the best Vulture pilots this side of Terra."

"You all know the Imperial Guard is sometimes called the Emperor's Hammer. What they don't tell you is that the Vultures are also the Emperor's scalpel. Big or small, there is nothing we cannot do. But to get to that level of skill, you sorry excuses for pilots are going to have to be _remade_. If you don't like that, well to bad. I'm the boss and you'll do as I say, or you can get your fat, lazy arses out of my sight."

Jonah waited and watched Ichthy closely. No one moved.

He sniffed loudly, "Well, it seems you all have interest in flying Vultures, after all. Well, let me tell you this. Squadrons are made up of six birds. That makes twelve pilots and gunners. Myself and Lieutenant Sun here, make two. The other ten slots are open to the forty-two of you."

Jonah took to walking a little, glancing sideways at the pilots, "That means thirty-two of you can kiss your chance to fly Vultures goodbye. I won't loss much sleep over it, as you'll be the worst of the most piss-poor group of pilots I have ever had to honor of look upon."

He turned and waved his hand at the only Vulture on his flight line. He indicated _Sunfire_, "New birds should arrive within the week. Then training will begin in earnest. Can anyone tell me what make and model that bird is?"

"Phaeton mark five," someone shouted.

Sun grumbled, "Looks like someone's been reading their history slates."

"Wrong!" Jonah shouted.

"A Voss sixer?" someone else yelled.

"Wrong again."

"Mars mark eight," came a small voice.

"Who said that?" Jonah turned and asked the pilots.

"I did, sir," said a pilot in the second row.

"Why did you guess that?" Jonah looked back. The pilot was a short and slim women. She was pale-skinned, fair-haired and bright-eyed, with high-cheek bones and a small mouth. She didn't look anything like a Beligarso women.

"The intake values on the ancillary stack, sir."

"Good eye and an excellent guess, but wrong. He's a Mars mark nine. You can tell the difference because the Eights have flanges that are angled inwards. The Nines are angled outwards."

He walked over the Sun and took the flight-pins from him and stuffed them into his pocket. Jonah looked up at the group and held one pin up, "Do well and you wouldn't need these. You'll have great and terrible Vulture wings on your chest. Do woefully and you'll get these back and a transfer to fly shuttles. There is no shame in that. However, this is _your_ chance to become one of the finest flyers in the Imperium. Unsung and dirty, but the best there is. Make of it what you will."

For the rest of the week while the trainee-pilots were exercised to exhaustion by Sun, Jonah sat in his office, looking over the data-slates and tapping at the cogitator. He hadn't realized just how much administration there was in running his own squadron. He had two Munitorium clerks who handled a great deal of the load, but he had never had so much admin to do in his life. It had been a long week of reviewing the trainee-pilot's profiles and conducting private interviews with each, then writing up lengthy reports. "Next!" he shouted.

The door opened and a young female officer entered. The same one who had guessed almost correct that first day on the flight-line. She snapped to attention and saluted. Jonah returned the salute and nodded to the chair opposite his desk, "Sit."

The women sat quickly. She was trying to control her nervous breathing, but not succeeding very well.

"Gia Zero," Jonah said, looking at her file on his slate, "Says here, you're from Clamp. What brings you to Beligarso?"

"Sir, my parents are Mechanicus servants, they were assigned to Haven's Machine Temple. I came with them."

"You a Cogite?"

The women frown very briefly, "I'm a Machine Cultist and a true believer of the glories of the Omnissah, if that's what you're asking?"

Jonah held up a hand, "No offense intended, Zero. _Cogite_ is just what you call your kind around here. What do your parents do?"

"My mother is an archivist. My father is an artisan."

"Odd for a daughter of Machine-God to join the Guard, don't you think? Why not the Skatarii?"

She looked away for a moment and then back a Jonah, "Honestly, sir. I've wanted to fly Vultures with the Ninety-Ninth ever since I saw the news-feeds about their action on Larissa."

Jonah smiled at the young women, "That was my first action, Larissa."

She stared at him.

"I was younger then you are now and a wet-behind-the-ears front-seater for a lieutenant Menth, Emperor rest his soul, aboard a bird called _Dodgy Two_."

"_Dodgy Two_, _Dodgy Two_ …" she thought to herself, "Six confirmed kills. Including two transport boats on the river Barb."

Jonah looked surprised, "Eh, yes. How did you know that?"

She smiled and tapped her head, "I've got a few mods. Meme-implants mostly. The plan was for me to become an archivist like my mother. I've inloaded most of the Ninety-Ninth's historical files into my implants."

"Any other augmetics I should be aware of?"

"None, sir."

A knock on the door interrupted Jonah, "Enter," he called out.

One of his clerks stuck his head through, "Captain, the landers are coming in."

Jonah stood up, "Excuse me, Zero, but we'll continue this another time."

**::::**

Imperial Navy bulk-landers sat like a squatting dogs on the tarmac. Their huge mouths were open and the ramps lay like lolling tongues. Munitiorum staff and Beligarso ground crew drove Trojans and Cargo-10s with flatbeds out of the landers. On each flatbed sat a tarpaulin wrapped Vulture. The haulers drove them away and they were unloaded on the twenty-five different flight lines.

By the end of the day five new Phaeton Mark Vs were perched on Jonah's flight line. They were newly forged and freshly stamped. Their hides were the dull grey of unpainted metal. Next to the green and grizzled _Sunfire_ they looked like fledglings having yet lost their birth feathers.

Jonah and Sun walked amongst them, climbed under them, touched them. Sun even pressed his big nose against the flank of one and smelled deeply.

"Good birds, them," he said after they had looked over the new five.

"Which one do you want?" Jonah asked. Sun looked at the new aircraft, and then glanced back to _Sunfire_. "You should take them all for a ride, see which you like the most," Jonah continued.

"No," Sun said. He pointed to the third craft, "Number three. That's my bird."

Jonah looked at the craft. It wasn't obviously any different than the other, though Sun had smelt that particular craft, "Any reason?" he asked.

"Three's my lucky number," Sun said.

"Oh, I didn't know that."

By the end of the week, ground crew had painted their hides the dark green of Beligarso aircraft and had added dozens of colorful warning symbols and words. Marker-script and unit tags had been stenciled onto the boom tails. The aircraft had been added to the regiment's official registry of assets. The only thing missing was the craft names, icons, and the pilots names painted on the nameplates below the cockpits. Except for Sun, adding white skull-headed kill markers was not a concern at the moment.

Jonah walked the along the freshly painted Vultures. He watched tech-priests work on the new aircraft, testing instruments and blessing the new machines. His squadron had been assigned a tech-priest all its own, Usay Beamish. The metal-man and his three juniors were the typically uncommunicative and stand-offish stock of the Adeptus Mechanicus. As long as they took care of his birds, Jonah didn't mind the lack of small talk.

He struggled to think of a squadron name. It was important to select the right name. The right name would inspire them, give them a sense of united purpose and pride. A name they would fight hard to never shame. Of course, it would have to a great name as Jonah was determined to make his mark it the aviator community, he wanted to become famous, known throughout the subsector and beyond. Like General Graco. When Draco had been young he formed and led Stardragon Squadron. His exploits with the legendary unit were such that holo-films had been created.

Jonah walked around the lead craft, his own. He patted him gently on the nose, traced his finger over the paint work. Name, name, he needed a name! _Sunfire Squadron_, no, it was meaningful but it didn't have the right feel. _Jonah and the Other Guys Squadron_, heh, that'd be good, but it was a bit of a mouthful. _Ugly Squadron_ … no wait, that was already taken. He couldn't find a name that worked. He sighed and made his way down the line. He paused at the third craft along.

Along with its new dark green hide, it had a name and icon painted on the canopy. The image was a white crystal-shaped star with word, _Constellia, _scrolled through it. Below the rear canopy set in white paint _Lt. Sun_ was written. Jonah smiled, ol' Balor had named his bird after his youngest sister. Right, _three_, his third sister was Sun's lucky number.

Smiling and thinking, the right name continued to elude him.

**::::**

The Imperium did not place a great deal of concern on pilots surviving crashes, or if they did, how they should conduct themselves afterwards. Particularly, as most creatures in the galaxy saw humanity as food, slaves, play-things, or all of the above. And especially because many of Humanity's own leaders would not trust anyone pilot with pro-longed contact with xeno or traitorous forces.

Beligarso was proud of its sons and daughters and attempted at least to provide them some training in evasion and survival. Though, few could realistically hope to survive behind enemy lines.

Jonah had all the trainee-pilots dress for flight duty and report to the tarmac. Each wore their dark green flight-suit, flight-helm, black boots, and black survival vest with knife, side-arm, comm-unit, and other minor items of note tucked away in pouches and pockets. He then led them across the base and loaded them into three waiting Valkyries. They flew out into the deep wilderness that surrounded the airbase.

An hour later the transports put-down atop a high hill in the hinterlands. The trainee-pilots strolled down the ramps and onto a barren outcrop of rocks. They clustered together, chatting and admiring the wildlands.

At a sharp whistle they all looked around and saw Jonah waving for them to join him. He stood near, and was dwarfed by, a very large man wearing full carapace armor of dark green coloring. His camo-cloak was wrapped tightly around his shoulders, a battle-helm was tucked under the crook of his elbow and a lethal looking hellgun was slung under his other arm. His dark eyes glared hostilely from under his heavy brow. A half-platoon more of heavily armored men lurked nearby. They also eyed the pilots unpleasantly.

The trainee-pilots gathered around Jonah and looked dubious at the armored giant.

"Today begins your survival and evasion training. Meet Captain Toolmen," Jonah said, nodding to the armored giant. "He's the chief of S Company of the Seventy-Fifth. _S_ stands for Stormtrooper for the slower amongst you. Over there are some of his new inductees. You're looking at, basically, the finest soldiers Beligarso has to offer the Throne. Those nice men will be hunting you. Good luck with that."

The pilots stood around, looking confused and unsure of what to do.

Jonah smirked, "You should get going. They wouldn't wait forever."

The pilots stared at him.

"Were any of you paying attention to your direction of travel?" Jonah asked.

"From Draco, we travelled east, sir," Zero said quietly.

"Thank the Throne!" he exclaimed and pointed his hand west. "Home is thatta way. Many days walk. Off you go. Oh, and I shouldn't really have to spell it out for you, but don't let them catch you. They're not actually _nice_ men."

It finally sank in what was going on. Some pilots sprinted away, others walked away quickly, glancing nervously backwards.

Toolmen quietly watched the poorly-equipped pilots race down the hill and in into the forest. Those that walked would be first caught. The first key to survival to move as quickly away from the crash-site as possible, before exhaustion and hunger took it's toll on bodily resources. Not that it mattered, even those that run quickly couldn't get away, no matter how hard they ran. They simply didn't understand just how fit Stormtroopers truly were. His men were hunters born. Every broken twig, every unnaturally turned plant, every spoor trail, would stand out like glowglobes in the underground to their eagle eyes, sharp ears, and keen noses.

He eventually looked at Jonah and said, "Now, about that bet you mentioned?"

Jonah looked up at the giant, "I've a case of vrackie that says half or more make it back to Draco."

"You think that many can evade my men?"

"I do," Jonah said.

Toolmen thought about it. He didn't drink, he never drank. He considered his body to be a temple to the Emperor. Drink was filth, as were drugs and women, and he never put _filth_ in his body. In his opinion drink was nearly as bad as slothfulness, the ultimate sin against the God-Emperor. But victory was what mattered. Defeating your foe; utterly crushing him so that he would never threaten you again. The spoils-of-war mattered little to him, only the victory. And in this case, Victory was proven by the winner of the simple bet. He took Jonah's hand and shook it, "Deal."

"Oh," Jonah added, "Tell your boys if they find them, they can rough them up a little, but I need them still capable of flying."

Seven days later Jonah lost the bet. He laughed as he handed over the case of liquor to the emotionless Stormtrooper Captain. Only four of his pilots made back to Draco. They were all filthy and de-hydrated, but elated. The others encountered Toolmen's soldiers. They were returned to Draco in a covered lorry, bound and gagged, covered in scratches and bruises from their rough treatment.

**::::**

Advanced flight school training was gruelling. Jonah expected them to possess flying skills they didn't have. Sun expected them to be more knowledgeable then they were. Neither was hesitant to let them know their failings. Or their successes. They were demanding trainers, but fair.

For six months the routine was the same. Firstly there was morning roll-call, followed by running and callisthenic exercises. Breakfast and morning prayers were had after the morning work-out. The early afternoon was spent in the classroom. Advanced flight tactics were taught by Jonah and Sun, or other senior pilots brought in for a lecture. After lunch, they returned to the classroom for an hour's seminar delivered by Commissar Cave. The Commissar talked about their responsibilities and duties as soldiers and officers of the Imperial Guard and their obligations as servants of the God-Emperor of Mankind. After Cave's talk, they all moved to the hanger-workshop for an hours' lecture on the proper rites and rituals of Vulture gunships, conducted by the synth-voiced, monotone-sounding Beamish.

The late afternoon hours were spent in the Vultures, practicing what they had learned in that morning. After flight practice, there was an evening lecture session where the pilots were given notes about their day's performance. After that there was evening roll-call, evening prayers, and only then were they finally dismissed for dinner, twelve or more hours after they had gotten up. Most pilots worked on their data-slates or flight-sims well into the night, only to have to repeat the routine the next day.

Flying Vultures was one of the most difficult tasks presented to any atmospheric pilots. The machine was a complicated and demanding beast. Both cockpits were identical and each contained over two hundred buttons, knobs, switches and toggles, as well as two sticks and four pedals. Each and every control was shaped differently, to allow for identification in total darkness. Most of the controls had secondary functions, and when used in various combinations, there were literally thousands of controls to learn and master.

The hardest part of learning to fly Vultures wasn't memorizing the daunting controls; it was dealing with the overwhelming amount of multi-tasking the aircraft demanded. Pilots were expected to take in at least ten separate live data-streams at all times. Aviation was determined by the effects of the four elements of flight - thrust, lift, drag, weight - on the various flight controls for speed, direction, height, power. Getting those right was difficult and consumed a great deal of a pilots mental resources, however, at the same time the pilots had to be keenly aware of avionics status, aupsex soundings, aircraft-display screens, weapons-systems, visual images, assayer diagrams, up to six people talking over the vox simultaneously, and of course, the perils of combat. With that amount of data coming at the pilots, they were required pilots to stay calm, cool, and collected at all times.

After having the mental agility to handle a constant barrage of data for hours on end, the most important trait was physical coordination. It was even more important than keens eyes, or gut instinct, though both those counted as well. Pilots were expected to learn to use each limb independently, yet in constant harmonious concert. They had to learn to listen to different voices with each ears, and were even expected use each eye separately. There was where most applicant-pilots washed out. Only one a hundred people could learn to look at two separate images simultaneously and understand both. It was skill that required constant practice. When in space transit Vulture veterans would often read two novel-slates simultaneously, just to keep their eyes up to scratch.

**::::**

About a month into training Jonah walked through the dark barracks. The forty airmen, two had washed out after survival training, slept soundly. The demands of training had left them exhausted.

He nodded to Sun and they moved from cot to cot, gently waking and whispering into the pilots' ears, "Get up. Get dressed. Get to the flight line in ten minutes."

Ten minutes later the sleepy pilots stood around, hands in pockets.

"Gather round," Jonah whispered and they clustered closely. "Tonight, we do something very special, but important." He opened a big bag and pulled two lascarbines out. He passed one to Sun and laid the other next to his boot. He said, "Tonight, we start standing guard over our birds. Henceforth every night, two of you will always need to pace the flight line, to keep any ne'ver-do-wells away. I'll leave you to set your own rotas. "

"Ne'er-do-wells, sir?" Ichthy whined, "Why are going to guard the Vultures at night? We're in the middle of a fraking Imperial airbase, in the fraking hinterlands of fraking Fornix."

"Because," Jonah said, "There will retribution."

"For what?"

"For this," Jonah said and emptied the rest of the big bag. Two dozen cans of spray paint. "You are to infiltrate the other squadron's flight lines and eh, _decorate_, their birds. Do two, three squadrons at the most. And spread them out across the flight-lines."

A few of the pilots grinned at the mischief, others moaned at the loss of sleep.

Passing out cans Sun said, "The captain and I are taking tonight's watch. Remember, be quick and don't be seen. If you get caught, we don't know anything about this, and you're out of AFST. Up and at them, boys and girls."

The following morning the base was in an almighty uproar. The base's commandant, Caputo, zoomed about the airbase in his electro-cart; over his loud-speaker he bellowed demands and insults in equal measure. The senior Mechanicus Magos threaten to have the perpetrators turned into servitors for gravely insulting the machine-spirits.

The squadron captains and commanders stomped and yelled to know who had vandalized their aircraft, but they all knew what was going on. This was an old game, as old as the regiment itself.

And the game was on.

The flight lines were guard night and day. In the middle of the night two aviators, Zero and Turnwater, with lascarbines set on low-power walked around Jonah's six birds. Tura moon was high overhead, and save for a few ground-mounted glowglobes the tarmac was pitch black.

"How you finding the training?" Zero asked him quietly.

Turnwater shrugged, "Alright, I guess." He was an awkward man, and not used to chatting. He was oldest pilot in training, old enough to be Zero's father. He was silent for a moment then asked, "How you finding it?"

"Hard, actually. I just get so nervous when I'm flying and I mess up the landings." That was putting it lightly. She had already put two birds into the workshops for repairs.

Turnwater nodded and walked on silently. He suddenly stopped walking and put his hand against Zero's chest. She looked at him and saw where he was looking. They both lowered themselves and raised their weapons. Across the dark tarmac ghostly silhouettes were slinking towards them.

**::::**

There came a loud, repetitive knocking on Jonah's door. He startled awake, lurching up from the sofa, spilling slates and memo-pads from his chest. The pounding came again, "This had better be puking good," he muttered and looked at the chrono. It was the dead of night.

He coughed loudly and stumped to the door. Pulling it open he yelled, "What?"

Zero stood outside the door, panting and flushed. She snapped a salute and said, "Sir. We got 'em!"

"What, who?"

She smiled widely, "Infiltrators, sir!"

He looked confused, then it slowly dawned on him what she was talking about.

"Where?" He grinned like cat spying a sleeping mouse.

"Auxiliary supply shed two."

Jonah told her to fetch Sun and meet him in the surplus parts shed. When he got there he found Turnwater, Hristos, and Khan. All were holding lascarbines and smirking proudly. On the floor between them were two bound and gagged pilots, canvas bags over their heads.

Jonah put his hands on his hips and said, "Good jobs, boys. Well done on catching some nightfish."

Hristos turned and she said, "It was Turnwater and Zero, sir. We were just about to relieve them when Zero told us." Khan nodded in agreement.

"How did you do it?" Jonah asked Turnwater.

The old man glared at the two captives and said coldly, "Ambushed 'em."

Jonah looked at him. He was an old PDF vet, recon trained, if Jonah remembered correctly. Once he had done his twenty-five years he couldn't find any meaningful occupation, so for lack of anything else to do he signed up for the Guard. He saw a Hans Wind fronted poster for the Vulture programme and thought he try out for it. He was a talented soldier and made it quickly into the aviation programme, and now stood a fair chance at getting to fly Vultures. With their similar history, it was no surprise that he and Sun had become something like friends.

"Well done," Jonah said. "I wonder who we have here?"

Khan moved forward to pull the hoods off, but Jonah held up his hand, "Let's wait for Sun and Zero."

Quarter of a later the two pushed their way into the shed. Sun saw the two prisoners and rubbed his hands together with glee. Zero stood with her back against the door, smiling proudly.

Jonah nodded to Khan and Hristos. Each took hold of a hood and yanked them off quickly.

"It had to be you!" Jonah squealed with delight. Sun bellowed with laughter, slapping his thighs with mirth.

There on the floor sat Commander Flem Odavos.

"What can I say?" The commander just smiled and shrugged. "So what do I have to do get out of this? I hope it's not group sex again, Ignis. I don't think young Nasos here is up for that _sort_ of induction." Odavos nodded to the other, bewildered looking pilot.

Jonah just clapped his hands and grinned like a fool. "Oh, Commander! The favors you're going to owe me!"

**::::**

After months of flying practice, combat drills, and tactic studies the trainee-pilots were nearing the end of the Vulture programme. Scored had been collected by Jonah and Sun. They tabulated and argued. Advanced Flight School and Training was over for the mere twenty pilots who had lasted the six months. Jonah and Sun walked into the barracks. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at them.

Jonah cleared his throat, "Please step outside when I call your name. Ichthy, Cassavecchio, Zero, Grixti, Turnwater, Hristos, Hotblack, Atellus, Khan, Octus."

Ten pilots had left and ten remained. Obviously one group was about to be dismissed. Jonah looked at the remaining ten pilots. He said, "Pontius, Tarl, Garvel, Soyinko, Jamedar, Soto, Zaddion, Redpane, Palmer, Mercutio," and in an unapologetic voice he continued, "You didn't make it. If you want, you can try your luck next time around. Now, pack your bags and report to Air Colonel's office for your reassignments. The Emperor Protects."

The pilots hesitated for a long moment, and then quietly went about collecting their personal items and removing themselves from the barracks.

Jonah stepped outside and waved the ten into a line. "Zero, step over here." He waited for her to join him then walked a short distance away.

"Zero," Jonah said, "You're not the worse and nor did you score the lowest. However, you didn't score within the top ten places. You failed at high-intensity landings time and time again. You can't hover a Vulture to save your life. Your scores with the nose-gun are woefully inadequate. Gia, you'll never make it as a Vulture pilot without those skills and you'd be a danger to any wingman flying with you. You understand what I'm saying?"

Zero looked at him and nodded very slowly. She looked as if she might cry, but her eyes stared dry.

"Listen," Jonah said slowly, "You're not a bad pilot. You're a tech-head par none. Your ability to fly by instruments alone is even better than mine. You're one of the best vox operator I've seen. You're great with the tech-side of flying, you're just not very good at actually flying. Or shooting. Or landing. I know you can do it, but the only one way you can make it as a pilot is with further tutelage. There is no time for that, unfortunately."

She stared over Jonah's shoulder, the disappointment evident in her face, "Yes, sir," she said.

"Throne help me, Zero," Jonah said seriously, "But … I'm still taking you as my front-seater."

She blinked and stared at him. A smile slowly broke across her face. She made to hug him, but he held up a warning finger. "Don't," he said.

She hugged him anyways.

Jonah returned to the others and said, "You've all made it. Congratulations. Now the assignments … I'm taking Zero as my gunner, we're bird one. It's no surprise that the two pensioners are sticking together, Sun and Turnwater are bird four. Front to backs is as follows; Hotblack and Khan in bird two. Hristos and Cassavecchio are bird three. You two are with me, flight one. Ichthy and Grixti, five. Octus and Atellus are number six. You're with Sun as flight two."

Sun smiled at Jonah. He smiled back at them and asked, "Now that you're all _True-and-Through_, anyone have any questions?"

Zero raised her hand slowly, Jonah nodded at her. She asked, "Hmm, sir. What are we called?"

**::::**

In the officer's lounge Jonah sat staring at the flight lines. Lines of dark green Vultures sat quietly in the late day sun. He sipped a vrackie.

"Get you another?"

Jonah looked around and saw Odavos, "Ah, yes sir. If you don't mind"

The commander brought two glasses back from the bar, "Have you thought of a name yet?"

Jonah smirked, "Ugly?"

"Cute."

"Nothing to lose by trying."

"Seriously, have you thought of a name yet? You're the last flock to pick a damned name."

Jonah nodded, "I have."

"And?"

Jonah stared at the dark shapes on the flight line and asked Odavos, "What do you see out there?"

Without looking he said, "Vultures, Ignis. Big and damned _ugly_. That's where I got my name from."

"Me too," Jonah said. "Where you see an ugly Vulture … I see a Monster."

**::::**

Regimental tradition dictated that the birth of new Squadrons be celebrated. Wildly. When the new squadrons had be named and staffed with crew and machines, the Beligarso's airmen threw a party.

The crews of the ten new squadrons were obliged to pay for the drinks and more importantly, had come in a costume that reflected their squadron's namesake. The costumes were judged by a group of the older squadron's captains and Commissar Cave.

Industrious and efficient groundies had dragged decking together to make a small stage. They had even rigged up a backstage area with some heavy-duty tarpaulins as curtains suspended from the rafters. They found a few old searchlights and lit the stage with bright light. The bar was managed by the same staff-sergeant who oversaw the officer's lounge. He was man well-known, and highly respected, for his talent at crafting cocktails.

Jonah's Monster Squadron was the last to take the stage. They came on one at a time. First up was Sun. He came with a fake white beard plastered to his face and paperboard box with a clock face drawn on it. A few of the older pilots caught the reference and nodded thoughtfully. Father Time, a monster to all men and women.

Cassavecchio was a Sartenesse man with verbalized separatist sympathies and he came dressed as Governor Godian Thrax. The room booed him heavily. Items were thrown at him and Cave shook his head disapprovingly. He tossed a rude gesture at the crowd and departed.

When Zero came out as a hideous creature the mood improved significantly. It was a fantastic costume and everyone applauded her effort. Where she had found the time to sew on seventy-two tentacles no one knew.

Hotblack, goofy-looking and funny, dressed comically like an Ork. He had painted himself green and went about the stage making farting sounds with his underarm and belching loudly. He received laughs and claps.

Last up was Jonah. Behind the curtain he waited. He wanted to make the crowd wait a few moments longer than expected; he wanted them all raring to go. A known show-off they cheered and jeered for him, they had high expectations and wanted to see if he met them.

Puffing out his chest he walked out onto the stage, the bright lights revealed his form.

The first thing they noticed was with the bright red sash around his waist. Then they took in the long black leather coat, the ornate black dress-shirt with gold trim, the black jodhpurs, and black knee-high boots. His head sported a black peeked officer's hat, with a death-heads badge above the brim. He looked every bit a commissar.

Jonah grinned like a damned fool and clapped and waved his hands to the crowd.

The room had gone completely silent.

Looking at the judge's faces Jonah faltered. Odavos held his face in a hand, shaking his head and muttering. Wynne looked away, trying not to make eye contact. Nenx stared at Jonah in complete disbelief, his mouth hanging open. Cave sat with his arms crossed, his face like stone.

The commissar stood up slowly and made for the stage. Aviators scrambled quickly to get out his way. He climbed the steps and walked onto the stage. Approaching Jonah, he walked around him, scrutinizing him closely. Then he came to stand face to face with Jonah.

"Good effort," he whispered coldly.

Jonah swallowed and smiled tentatively.

"You look the part, but you are no commissar," Cave whispered softly. "Behold a commissar's power."

He then turned to face the hall, the assembled airmen waited to see what Cave was going to do. "Mockery of the Commissariat is not something I smile upon. Such an offense constitutes an attack on my person, and as such, is punishable by death."

He quickly drew out his bolt pistol and the room let out a collective gasp. He jerked around and aimed the huge weapon at Jonah. Cave yelled, "You mock me, good Captain. A monster? A _MONSTER_!"

"Sir, please, it was only a joke …" Jonah said, holding up his hands and taking a step backward.

"Silence! On your knees. Now!"

Jonah looked around for help. No one came to his aid. No one dared intervene with a summary execution. If they did, they would be next.

"NOW!" Cave roared in his face.

Jonah dropped to his knees. Looking up he saw the barrel of the bolt pistol an inch from his face. Cave leaned forwards and slapped the hat off his head. He looked up and yelled out to the crowd, "All of you who stand here now, witness what becomes of those who _joke_ at the expense of the Commissariat."

Cave looked down at Jonah with a face like death. Jonah saw the fanaticism in his eyes, the sinister light of zealousness. Not wanting that to be the last thing he saw in this life, he clinched his eyes shut, and thought of his beautiful sisters, his forest cottage, playing with his nephews on the beach. Cave pulled the trigger.

There was small click. Then nothing.

Jonah slowly opened his eyes and looked up. Cave pointed to the weapon's safety, clearly set to safe-mode. He leaned down and said softly, "Am I _monstrous_ enough for you, Captain?"


	14. Intermission

Hello everyone. Just wanted to drop a line saying _Vultures of the Imperium_ is still on going, not to worry, Jonah and co. will be back. However, the story's undergoing a seriously **_major _**overhaul. It's needed it for some time, and now that it's getting dark early I thought was as good a time. It'll be a few months before I start reposting Chapters. If you have any questions or want to make suggestions, give me a shout, I'm all ears.

Here's a little taster for those of you missing your boys from Beligarso updates. Thanks for reading, reviewing and revelling. Cheers! -Pixo

* * *

**Practicing Sacrifice**

******~ I ~**  


A Stormtrooper ghosted slowly through the dark, foggy woods. It was a blighted place. The towering trees around him were ancient and gnarled, limbs twisted and spindly, the undergrowth choked with moss and decaying plant matter.

The armored figured paused and lowered himself slowly to one knee. His fully helmeted head turned to scan the area. In the absence of anything noteworthy he raised his armored fist, snapped his hand open twice and lowered his arm back to his weapon.

Figures in dark green carapace armor materialized behind him, weapons held ready. First one, then two. Then five, ten, and at last, twenty armored men clustered around the first.

He pointed his finger at the ground and waved it in a small circle. Fifteen of the Stormtroopers stalked ten paces into the woods, forming a protective circle of security for the other five.

The inner five dropped to knees, huddling close.

The first Stormtrooper pulled off his helmet. The H-shape painted in gray at the rear indicated he was a Captain. The officer was a grizzled man, old and bald, with a heavy brow and dark, mean eyes. With permission granted, the others pulled their own helmets off.

He whispered softly, "We're five kilometers from the target. We split here. Ick, you take team two and head west and approach the target from the south. I'll keep heading north and approach the target from the east."

Lieutenant Ick Hutton said, "Aye, Captain."

"Get within two kilometers and get that aimer on target," the senior officer continued to speak softly. He tapped the heavy optics unit slung over Hutton's shoulder. He had one as well. "The first chance you get, call in the airstrike."

The lieutenant nodded.

"Any questions?"

"Captain Toolmen, sir, what about the voices?"

Toolmen turned his head at the speaker, "Voices, Maximus?"

"Over the vox. Haven't you heard them?" Senior Sergeant Maximus said. He was as his name stated, _maximum _– size and strength, speed and stealth, battlecraft and melee skills. He possessed a huge manhood.

"No, I haven't," Toolmen replied. Not liking the quiver in Maximus's voice. He was looking pale. He had been weak and pale for days. "Who are they? Ours?"

Maximus looked around at the others, he was uneasy, fear showed in his eyes. "I don't know, sir. Foe?" he whispered.

The Captain glared at Maximus until larger man looked away. He looked at the others, hardened Stormtrooper veterans to the man. Though even they feared the insidious powers of the Archenemy, he said, "Anyone else hear the voices?"

A few heads nodded.

"Ick?" Toolmen asked his second in commander.

"Negative," Ick Hutton replied, tapping his micro-bead to be sure.

"Devillo run a vox check," Toolmen told the vox operator.

"I can't sir," the man replied quickly.

"Why?"

"We're too close to the installation, they might pick up the signal."

Toolmen nodded and thought for a moment, "Alright. No comms. Hand signals and battle sign only."

"And the voices?" Maximus asked.

"You pussin' out on me, Maxi?" Toolmen asked aggressively, "You gonna cry a little?"

"No sir," Maximus replied. He glared hard, unhappy about being shamed in front of the others, "I'm not gonna _cry."_

"Good, now shut the _Throne up about voices. It's not like they're talking to you anyways, you moron. I reckon it's just spill over from the comm site."_

Maximus glowered and pulled on his helmet.

Toolmen watched Maximus for a moment longer then looked at the other and said, "Take 'em or break 'em." The others repeated the regiment's motto and pulled on helmets.

The two teams silently went their separate ways. The last man in Hutton's team, the hulking giant Maximus, stopped and looked back. He raised his autogun at the departing captain, mocked fired a round and turned to follow his team.

**~ II ~**

Two quick clicks over his micro-bead made Toolmen stop suddenly. He snapped his fist up, those with him paused and lowered themselves, weapons at the ready. Three more clicks came quickly, Toolmen flapped his hand twice, the nine Stormtroopers took to cover and defended all angles.

The other team was in danger, the two clicks, followed by three clicks was the company's standard no-verbal warning message.

Toolmen scooted over to two 'troopers, corporals Orange and Alipello and watched the fog filled forest. He guts told him danger was nearby. He trusted his guts.

The captain softly nudged Orange to get his attention, and in a series of quick hand gestures ordered him take half the team west and look for Hutton's men. The 'trooper nodded, then shook his helmet around.

"Problem, Orange?" Toolmen whispered the corporal.

"The voices sir, I can't get them out of the helmet's…" the 'trooper slapped his helmet. "Damned, vox!"

"Corporal," Toolmen snarled, "noise discipline."

"Sir," Orange struggled with his helmet for a moment longer. Toolmen watched in confusion as the 'trooper stop struggling, tossed aside his autogun, and slowly pulled out his auto-pistol. His confusion turned to terror as he watched corporal Orange raise his sidearm and shot Alipello in the head.

The moment passed and Toolmen quickly grappled with Orange and twisted him around, snatched the handgun away from in a fluid moment. He shoved the corporal back and shot him four times in the chest.

Toolmen made to move to Alipello, but stopped and looked up. Half his team had suddenly stood up and started firing off silenced rounds at the other half.

He was surrounded by traitors.

The voices had made traitors of his men.

Toolmen threw himself behind a tree and tried to make sense of the chaos around him. A quick glance showed him stormtroopers fighting it out with rifles, handguns or going at it hand-to-hand. Their simple, straight forward brutality was terrible to witness.

From the treeline across from him Maximus emerge. The giant-sized man looked slowly around, nodding at the chaos. Suddenly, the traitor sergeant glanced sharply around and glared straight at Toolmen. The moment the big man saw the captain he broke into a full sprint.

Toolmen raised his autogun and took aim. Another stromtrooper threw himself bodily at Maximus, tackling him to the ground. Their wrestling was fearsome and violent.

The captain turned and raced away from the confusing, squirming melee.

**~ III ~**

Under a kilometer away he saw the communication bunker. He was laid up against a small log, the laser-distancer propped up and aimed at the installation. He looked through the small view-finder, wiggled the heavy device it around until the small black dot was centered on the bunker below. Toolmen then wedged some rocks and forest debris along the edges of the aimer, enough to hold it steady, but not enough to alter the aim. He tapped a small rune and activated the device.

It hummed softly.

He couldn't see it, but he knew a small infrared laser was now aimed at the bunker.

Toolmen tapped his vox link, "Toolchest to Monster, Toolchest to Monster. Bring the fear."

After a long moment of buzzing silence his vox crackled, "Monster to Toolchest, fear inbound. Beware, lest you're found wanting."

"Affirmative, Monster. And they shall Know No Fear," Toolmen replied back, acknowledging the warning.

There was small crack in the woods near him. Toolmen slowly rolled away from the aimer, bringing his weapon up.

Traitors approached.

He rose slowly, stalking away from the device that his platoon had died to deliver.

His first sign of enemy contact was a series of sharp cracks across his left arm and chest, and blinding pain. He staggered back and fell hard.

Catching his breath, he grunted and swung his autogun around. Glimpsing a ghost in the fog he fired a short, controlled burst, the silencer mutating the usual roar to a soft spitting sound.

A savage burst of gunfire tore back in return, barely missing him. He rolled around onto his belly, elbow crawled ten meters away, paused and aim steadily. He waited prone, motionlessly.

A sound slowly reached his audio filters. A soft sound, which slowly turned into a gentle roar.

His eyes never left the fog in front of him.

A slight haze moved in the fog. A body shape. Toolmen sighted carefully, aiming for the head. The ghost moved slightly.

He fired a single shot.

The shadow dropped away, the fog swirled.

The only sound was the ever increasing roar above the trees. Glancing around Toolmen rose to a knee. He waited another moment then turned and raced back to the aimer.

He threw aside his autogun and dove to the ground, crawling the last meter to the aimer. He gentle pressed his eyes to the view-finder. The black-dot was still on target.

The roar reached a crescendo and two dark green Vulture gunships thundered overhead, shaking leaves from trees.

Toolmen had pushed himself up to see the Vultures line up to attack the bunker, when a shadow draped over him. He spun around, and leapt up. But he wasn't quick enough. Maximus stood there, face twisted with rage and smeared in mud. The man fired from the hip and a dozen rounds struck him point-blank in the face and chest.

Toolmen fell back, half draped over the log, and held up his arms to protect himself. Maximus unloaded the remainder of his magazine into the captain. The officer knocked the aimer down the hill as he flailed.

Not that it mattered, the Vultures had paused for only a brief moment and each let off two hellstrike missiles. He saw the gunships bank up and thundered away when he completely rolled over the log and down the hill, dead or dying.

**~ IV ~**

"Quiet down, everyone! Maximus, you make for fine traitor to Mankind," Colonel Dios joked from behind a large holo-table.

Maximus shouted from the back of the room, "I was always the lead male in my drama classes back at the scholem."

The room full of Stormtroopers laughed and jeered and insulted.

Dios smiled and raised his hand. The room quieted down, "Excellent job today, everyone. That's a tough run you all did. Seven out of ten teams don't make it on their first try. Then again, most teams don't have Toolmen. You should be proud, Sorn. You did you're boys good."

Toolmen looked around at his company. The bruises along his face and neck were dark purple and swollen. Low caliber, low velocity bullets could not pierce carapace armor, so Stormtroopers trained using live ammunition. While not lethal, it still hurt like a bastard. He said, "Aye sir, they did good. Practicing sacrifice is hard and they did real good. Considering half were traitorous dogs."

Dios grinned; it had been his idea to plant traitors in the platoon. He said, "For a moment you had me thinking you weren't going to make it to the bunker."

Toolmen frowned and said, "Have faith, Colonel."

Dios nodded to the stormtrooper officer, patted his shoulder and turned to address the four people standing to his right. "Captain Jonah, you have anything to add?"

A short, good looking man in the dark green flight suit of a Beligarso aviator stepped forward, "Thank you, Colonel. No, not much to add. Just remember, when calling in airstrikes calculate the time needed for us to reach the site, line up, and send off our payload. Depending on the size of our rotation orbit and our location compared to yours, anywhere between one to four minutes. If you call us in to early, you may not be set-up, causing us to abort and come around to try again. Wasting precious time. Too late, and well, as the good Captain's face attests, you might be dead."

The pilot stepped back and muttered a few words to the female aviator next to him.

"Thank you, Captain," Dios said and turned to face his stormtroopers. "Right, notes on the maneuver will be issued later this evening. Now that we've talked, and you've all massaged each other's ego, let's get down to the next training op. Tactical assault versus Ork."

"OH oh!," shouted Maximus from the back of the room, "Can I be an Ork?"


	15. Adverse Flying Conditions

**Chapter XIII**

**Adverse Flying Conditions**

**::::**

"_Beware, thar be Monsters here."  
_-Monster Squadron's Motto

**::::**

"Sir, aircraft at our two o'clock," Zero said.

Zero had the controls and Jonah read from the data-screen by his left knee. He looked up and slightly to this right. A few kilometers away flew a small aircraft, at two hundred meters up. He locked the assayer onto the target and cogitator told him it was a Mk XXII Hummingbird - a small, locally made two-seat aircraft. It's dull grey coloring indicated it was a Navy training aircraft.

"Monster Two, Monster Three form up tight," Jonah said into the squadron vox.

A quick glance to his left showed a painted icon on the Vulture pulling up alongside. It was an ornate, four-wheeled, open-topped chariot being pulled by a dark green Vulture. That was Talbert Hotblack and Lucius Khan in _End's Carriage_. To his right, and tight on his wing, was a nose decorated with a threatening looking purple cephalopod wielding two missiles in his writhing tentacles, _Kraken_. Crewed by Mairi Hristos and Grecho Cassavecchio.

"Monsters," Jonah said, "let's scare the piss out of that Navy puke."

Zero's reply wasn't filled with certainty but she said, 'Yes, sir,' anyways. Hotblack snorted and laughed, Hristos whooped her warcry over the vox.

"Monsters, stay on their six and climb to one thousand. We move to seventy-five percent and then a staggered power dive, we afterburn their faces. On my mark. Go." Jonah said.

The three Vultures climbed high into the sky and thundered forwards.

"Standby, standby … Dive, dive, dive!"

The three Monsters dropped like ugly spears, blazing hot from one thousand meters. One after another, they passed within twenty meters of the Hummingbird's blunt nose. Their backwash threw the small flyer all over the sky.

_Sunfire_ flew at the rear of column of three Vultures. Jonah was chatting and laughing with the others when Zero interrupted, "Sir! Seven o'clock!"

The edge in her voice made Jonah snap around. Hanging alongside him, not more than ten meters away, was a heavy-looking, thuggish Thunderbolt. With its drive-brakes deployed, flaps fully open it was going slow and matched _Sunfire's_ speed perfectly. Jonah saw the pilot's helmeted head turn towards him. As he watched, a small fist moved up and an even smaller single finger, the middle, was extended.

"On our right," Zero said calmly.

Jonah looked over and saw another navy-grey Thunderbolt easily cruise up alongside them. Feeling a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, Jonah looked up. Another Thunderbolt hung over-head.

"Oh, shit …" Jonah muttered. In unison the three Thunderbolts moved up the line of Vultures, pausing briefly to menace each as they passed. _End's Carriage_ and _Kraken_ babbled nervous queries over the vox.

Jonah ignored their questions and squinted to see what the fighters were up too. The three were joined by two more and formed up a kilometer ahead of the Vultures. At the last minute Jonah realized their plan. He yelled, "Control," and took control from Zero and pushed the sticks, diving _Sunfire_ downwards.

The five Thunderbolts ignited their afterburners and were lost to sight behind balls of engine flame.

The two remaining Monsters flew through the Thunderbolt's gift and they bucked and danced as the pilots fought hard to retain control of their aircraft as they flew through bad air.

Half an hour later the three Vultures put down on the active tarmac and hover-taxied their way to their nesting stations. They popped canopy and climbed down. As the huddled together for a quick debrief a small, grey Hummingbird zoomed by slowly. As the six pilots looked up at the tiny craft, both the front-seated trainee and the rear-seated trainer presented the ever popular Navy salute. Their middle-fingers pressed to the glass.

**::::**

A few weeks after the regiment was fully resupplied with bodies and machines, it was transferred from Draco Airbase to the enormous military complex of Fort Agbadza for joint operations training. Agbadza was located along a stretch of beautiful coastline on western Fornix. Consciously located over six thousand kilometers away from the political capital of the planet; the fort was home to Beligarso's military might. From bottom-rated Munitorium clerks' supplying socks to expertly-trained technical officers operating the orbital defense batteries; first week recruits wandering around lost and confused, to medal bedecked generals striding with purpose and determination - nearly a million military personnel from all branches of the Imperial war-machine resided there.

The crafts of the Aviation Regiment rotated practice missions every other day. Vultures and Valkryies, the two breeds of combat aircraft, worked hand-in-hand on the battlefield and having good technique was critical and good working relationships vital. Along with those practice missions, which were tightly controlled and called out by the numbers from nearby command-and-control aircraft, Zelekin ruthlessly ran scramble drills. Every day and night, two teams of two Vultures sat ready and waited for a twenty-four hour period for the call to go. Sometimes it came, sometimes it didn't.

Twenty hours into his Scramble shift Jonah reckoned it was a dud. He stood up and looked out of the widow. Outside it was nearly pitch black and rain was coming down in sheets. It was hard to guess with the low fog, but he reckoned the ceiling was no more than three hundred meters - terrible, terrifying flying conditions.

He left the ready-room, tossing a wave to Ichthy and Grixti, and wandered down to the hall to the adjoining sleeping quarters. On the door hung a squint, hand-drawn sign proclaiming, '_SILENCE_!'

Jonah pushed the door open and walked in. Eight cot-beds, four to a side, filled the room. Personnel chests were up against the wall, or at the foot of each cot. Zero was reading a data-slate by the glow of a soft lumo-lantern. Four other Vulture jocks, all from Menace Squadron, where there as well, chatting softly or watching holo-vids on data-slates.

Zero's eyes moved slightly and noted Jonah. She returned to her reading.

Jonah clambered onto his cot and sighed loudly. After a few moments he sighed again, even louder this time. He breathed in deeply to sigh a third time when Zero flipped her slate down and asked, "What?"

"I'm bored," Jonah said, "Wanna do something?"

"No Captain," Zero said, "I'm working. You should try it."

"Oh?" Jonah asked and stared at the ceiling.

"Yes, sir … that Hellstrike ballistics report that was due two days ago."

"It sure was."

"And?"

"And I finished it earlier. I'm not completely work-shy. Now I have nothing to do. Hence, my current state of boredom."

"Then have a rest. You never know when the call might come."

"Have you seen outside? No one will be flying out in that. Let's do something, let's dice or play cards or something."

"Sir," Zero looked over at him and waved the data-slate in his direction, "I'm still a bit unsure about the use of Deathstrike missiles, I need to learn about them."

Jonah sighed and rolled over, "_Borrrrring_. Deathstrike? We never get to play with the big toys, anyways. I guess I'll just have a nap then."

"Yes sir, you do that," Zero said, and the muttered under her breath, "And quit bothering me."

**::::**

A buzzing woke Jonah. The cot he slept on was attached to the wall via a small cable. Where the bed and the cable met was a small motor, it turned quickly, sending a vibrating sensation through the metal frame. Jonah sat up and sung his legs off the cot. Zero was already up and rushing for the door, data-slate forgotten. A red light flashed above the door frame.

They had been signaled to Scramble.

The six pilots rushed to the ready-room. When they reached there, the other two pilots where already half way dressed. Each pilot had a temporary locker, which contained their flight helmet, survival vest, flight boots, radio and personal weapons and effects. Groundies pulled Scramble duty as well, and they had already rushed out to the tarmac to prep the Vultures. They left the door open, wind and rain blew in hard.

Everyone dressed quickly and the co-pilots rushed out the door, into the dark storm. Once dressed the pilots ran back down the hallway and into the local command center. The room buzzed with noise as half a dozen vox-operators worked simultaneously. At a large table near the far end of the room stood a young-faced flight-operations controller, holding a data-slate and staring at a holo-projection. He waved the pilots to him.

The four pilots gathered around the table.

"Evening, sorry I woke you," the operations controller said with a half-smile. Most of the pilots humored him with smiles back, Jonah didn't bother. "We just received a distress signal from units holding the bridge at Tor Guem. The enemy has attacked in full strength at the bridge and has attempted to ford the river at two separate points. Our units are holding at the moment, but are requesting air support."

Jonah cough, "Eh, excuse me. These, _units_, have they seen the weather outside?"

The controller looked at Jonah confused, "Umm, yes sir. I believe they are fully aware of the atmospheric conditions."

"So they know it's the middle of the night _AND_ there is a major category four storm raging."

"Yes, sir."

"Alright then," Jonah said and turned to leave.

"Umm, sir … where are you going?" the controller asked.

"Back to bed."

"No, sir you can't!" the controller cried out, rushing around the table and through the other pilots. "You can't!"

Jonah stopped and turned around, "Oh? Why can't I?" he asked, "You know full well to fly in conditions like this is dangerous. We're not going, especially for a damned simulation."

"You have too! Air Colonel Zelekin himself ordered it. He said he wanted to test his pilots in adverse flying conditions."

Jonah stared that flight controller, his face moving slowly into a frown. He looked behind him and saw the other pilots. Ichthy had his hands in the pockets and was frowning as well. The two Menace pilots, Faas and Levos, looked equally unhappy. No one relished flying in heavy storms.

No one liked going against the Air Colonel's orders either.

"Damn it all …" Jonah muttered.

**::::**

They rushed through the downpour and into the cockpits. Jonah shifted around in his seat and swore as he squelched. He smiled to himself at having the forethought to shove a dry towel down his flight suit before sprinting across the tarmac. He took a moment to wipe off his hands and face. He dried off his helmet's visor as well.

He plugged into the intercom and called out, "Zero, I'm very unhappy."

"Good to know sir, can we just get this over with?"

He looked out into the wet night and saw the ground-chief hiding under the right wing. Jonah clicked the link, "Chief? We good?"

"Yes," came a very informal reply. Jonah could hear the hard wind blowing across the chief's helmet microphone.

"Copy that. We're fitted and ready. Get lost, Chief."

The senior groundie grunted a quick "be safe" and disconnected his cable. Jonah watched him race across the tarmac to the safety of the nearby hanger.

"Zero you do the talking, I'll do the flying," Jonah said.

"Yes, sir. Good idea," she replied and started communicating with air-traffic control. A few minutes later they were given the go ahead and Jonah gritted his teeth and powered up the engine.

He rose two meters off the ground and felt _Sunfire_ get shoved by the wind. After compensating for fearsome wind shear he powered forward. The wind shook the Vulture and with the fog hung low to the ground visibility was mere meters, when the windscreen wasn't washed out with blinding rain.

"Zero, tell Monster Five to keep up. Then hang on tight," Jonah said, "I'm about to do something stupid."

Jonah quick-powered the big engine and aimed the nose vertical. _Sunfire_ shot upwards. Rapidly climbing they pieced the solid ceiling of clouds at five hundred meters. It was blacker then night within the clouds. Jonah was flying by instruments and instinct alone.

Flying fast the altimeter quickly passed two thousand meters.

Then three thousand meters.

At four thousand Jonah muttered, "Just how big is this storm?"

At five and half thousand meters _Sunfire_ punched through the top layer of clouds and climbed into clear sky. Above were the countless brilliant stars of the God-Emperor's galaxy.

"Where are the others?" Jonah asked Zero, pulling _Sunfire_ into a lazy oval pattern.

She was quiet for moment, working the with other squadron's vox freqs. "I've got the two Menace birds, they're three klicks east of here. They're suggesting they move onto the target zone. No word from Monster Five yet."

"Alright, we'll wait for _Hippocampus_ then join up with the Menace."

"Aye sir."

**::::**

_Sunfire_ flew around in orbits for ten minutes with no sign of Monster Five. Jonah was starting to worry. Communication was control was scratchy at best and they had not heard from Five either. Jonah frowned and stared at the massive, black wall of dense clouds below him. There only a few options regarding _Hippocampus's_ status. They could have aborted immediately, turned back enroute, or crashed. Regardless, they had a mission to complete.

"Zero, let's get going."

"Five, sir?"

"They're either down, done, or die. Let's go."

As _Sunfire_ approached the target zone the two Menace birds patrolled above the clouds, their running lights blinking brightly. Jonah swung his Vulture up alongside the others and they chatted quickly about attack patterns. Being reluctant to fly in any sort of formation, they opted for a staggered dive attack.

Jonah volunteered to go first. He aimed the Vulture downwards and said, "Zero, tighten your harness, this is going to turn tragic," and gripped the throttle tightly.

"Sir, let me,' Zero said.

"Now isn't really the best time to try attempt dangerous flying training."

"I disagree. It'll be all instrument in there," Zero said, pointing down. "Who's the better of us?"

Jonah thought about it for a moment, and was forced to agree, he said, "Fair point. Just don't kill me … us."

"No promises." Zero took control and dove downwards. The moment the aircraft hit the clouds they were thrown around hard. Everything rattled, including Jonah. He muttered a short prayer under his breath and aquiliaed himself repeatedly. In his eighteen years of flying Vulture gunships he had never been more scared. The sheer blackness and density of the storm, the instruments and dials declaring one thing and his guts telling him another, Zero flying instead of him.

At four hundred meters they broke through the cloud layer and thrashed around like a fish on the end of a line.

"Emperor's Teeth!" Jonah swore. Taking flight control back from Zero.

"Great Cog!" Zero added her own oath.

Heedless of the terrible storm, a full-scale battle was being fought below them. Flares burned white-bright over the entire scene. Trenches faced the river and tiny dark figures were attempting to climb out of riverboats and assault the beach fortification. They had managed to establish a small beachhead. On a nearby bridge a dramatic lightshow of flashing lasbolts indicated a desperate battle being waged to secure the only means of getting land vehicles across the Guem river for a hundred kilometers.

Zero toggled to their assigned comm frequency and said, "Monster One, Monster One to Checkmate King, Checkmate King."

The radio crackled enough to make her frown, then a distant voice came over the speakers, "Checkmate King here. Status check!"

"Checkmate King, Monster One. Three Vultures, standard loadout. Ready for your word."

"I receive that. Three birds, standard loadouts. Here are my three most pressing objectives. Those boats need to be stopped and I need fire put down on the east end of the bridge. Also, take the fight to the enemy, that'll take some pressure off my forces. I'll leave it to you get on with it."

"Yes sir. Ordered received," Zero said over the vox, then said to Jonah, "Deployment?"

Using the assayer's thermal-scanner Jonah had been watching the scene below him and felt _Sunfire_ could make the most difference attacking the beachhead.

"We'll go for the shoreline. Send whoever is next to the bridge, then finally all three of us will make an aggressive sweep of the far shore."

"Got it."

"Activate Friend-finder and standby to engage the Greys," Jonah said and swung the Vulture around for an attack on the beach. Zero activated a system and in their heads-up-displays dozens of tiny blue dots appeared – each a friendly infantryman linked by their own micro-bead to the tactical vox net. Any heat signatures not highlighted with blue were considered the enemy. The blue dots were clustered in a loose crescent around the beachhead, and at many points their line was in engaged in hand-to-hand combat, or even overrun, with grey-heat signals.

Coming round hard left Jonah struggled with the wind shear and gritted his teeth. He lined up a boat just pulling up onto the shore, waited a second to center the rivercraft in his crosshairs and pulled the trigger.

Instead of high-velocity, high-explosive shells pummeling the enemy into oblivion, two rapid pulse beams of bright light lanced from underwing. The weapons, two NLHLTC or Non-Lethal Heavy Laser Training Cannons, fired big lasbolts set to low impact were designed to minimize fatalities and maximize fear. Being struck by a NLHTC was reported to like being struck, unprotected, by a champion heavy-weight professional boxer in a rage. Limbs could be broken and occasionally even necks.

Such was training for the God-Emperor's Imperial Guard.

The first few lasbolts slashed into the water just shy of the boat and then hit the troop-stuffed deck. Troopers in the boats tried to dive aside, and some even threw themselves into the river. A moment later _Sunfire_ had moved onto another boat, lancing it with bolts. Zero used the nose-bolter and fired into rain-slick infantrymen scrambling up the beach. The usual bolter rounds had been replaced with rubber balls the size of small fists and could knock a man unconscious at a kilometer.

After six seconds they passed over the enemy beachhead and swung around for another pass. In the distance, by the bridge, a Vulture tore into the enemy with flashing lascannons. They made two more passes over the beachhead and then all three aircraft formed up into a V. They thundered across the river and came in parallel to the far shore. Lascannons and rubber balls pounded the enemy wherever they found them.

The Vultures spent thirty minutes on site, until their weapons ran dry and they returned to base.

Zero hovered the Vulture down slowly and they hit the tarmac hard enough to make the landing gear groan.

"Easy," Jonah hissed, but he knew it was not her fault. He could not have done any better landing in conditions that difficult. Zero let out the breath she had been holding, and sat, unmoving and exhausted in her chair.

"Good job, Gia. That was some ugly shit. You did well," Jonah said over the intercom.

"Thank you, sir."

"Enough of the 'sir.' Call me Ignis, please. I've never flown in anything as terrible. It was like soup outside."

"Alright, Ignis."

There was a small click of a groundcrew plugging into the intercom and the chief's voice sounded, "Captain, the sim is declared over. Don't get out, we'll just roll you into a hanger."

"Thank you, Chief."

Once the Vulture had been loaded onto rolling deckplates, and wheeled into a nearby hanger they opened the canopies and climbed out. Through protected for the storm's punishment, they could hear it unleashing it's rage and thunder against the roof and sides.

Zero asked a passing groundie, "Any sign of Hippocampus?"

The young man shook his head, "I'm sorry. We got word they went down just after take-off. Just their emergency callout when they ditched. Nothing else. Has no one told you?"

She looked at Jonah. He frowned slightly and looked out the hanger doors intently, as if searching from them.

**::::**

The following morning the sky was a bright blue and the air heavy with moisture, the ten members of Monsters squadron were up early and jogging ten k's around the base and sweating hard. As they trotted down a length of tarmac a small missile truck rolled by them. In the bed of the truck sat two mud-covered pilots. They stood up as the truck rolled to a halt. Ichthy and Grixti grinned at the sweating joggers.

After a lot of profanities, good-natured ribbing, and subtle sighs of relief the squadron retired to their accommodation-hut and found out what had happened to Monster Five.

Ichthy said, "We got up ten meters of so, and tried to get some forward momentum. The wind was devilishly hard. Just when I thought we were going to get moving, we dropped five meters and flow through the security fence."

"We got a good length of it stuck in the right vector-ports. Did some damage too," Grixti put in.

Ichthy nodded, "Oh yeah. We made it four, maybe five klicks out and BAM! That was us. Straight into the muck!"

Grixti smiled and said, "It was something else. The canopies wouldn't blow off and the battery was offline. We couldn't get out!" He laughed, "So guess what Spencer here did," he patted Ichty on the back.

The Monsters all leaned forward intently. Grixti held them in the palm of his hand, "… shot his way out!"

Some laughed, some scoffed, Sun roared, "You what? You shot your way of the cockpit?"

"Yeah, what could we do? We couldn't get out," Ichthy said defensively.

Sun leaned back in his chair and crossed his big arm. He shook his head with disappointment, "You idiots. Did you try the manual release?"

The two young pilots looked at each other. Neither had.

Sun looked at Jonah and said, "This, this … is what we have to fight the Emperor's wars."

Jonah grinned, "I'd rather not have it any other way."

Sun threw his hands into the air and started berating the pilots for the lack of following procedures, their lack of common sense, their lack of mental prowess.

Jonah smiled at Sun. His oldest friend was such a bastard. Seeing someone in the doorway he looked up and saw Odavos standing there, watching the squadron grumble and cheek each other. He smiled approvingly. Jonah joined him and said, "You're on my turf, old man, watch your step or I'll turned my Monsters loose on you."

"I tremble in my boots," Odavos said. "You got a minute?"

"For you, of course not," Jonah stepped outside and walked with the Commander. After a few dozen steps Odavos turned and said, "I heard about last night. Zelekin, eh? What a puke."

"No kidding, running sims in that sort of weather. Ridiculous. That man is a hazard."

Odavos paused, "What time is it?"

"Time?" Jonah checked his chrono, "ten-ten."

"Wrong," Odavos said. "It's shipping out time."

Jonah looked closely at Odavos. The Commander wasn't smiling anymore, so Jonah knew he was serious. "When?"

"I'm not sure. I've got a little hint from Major Spicata, and he doesn't know anymore then he's told me, so don't ask him. But it'll be within the month. If any of your squad has remaining leave, get them to take it as soon as they can."

Jonah nodded to himself and said, "Alright. Thanks, Flem."

Odavos slipped on his aviator glare-shades and turned. He shouted a goodbye over his shoulder, but Jonah did not hear it. He was too deep in thought.

Once Jonah reached his hut he looked through the open doorway and into the dim interior. He could make out shadowy figures sitting around the central table. He heard their voices, some laughing, some shouting, someone was singing out of key. The voices of his squadron.

Without knowing why he laid his hand on his chest and felt the small double-headed eagle necklace he wore. He rubbed it softly and muttered, "God-Emperor, _please_, protect us all."


	16. Conversations in the Dark

**Chapter XIV**

**Conversations in the Dark**

**::::**

_"Consider, dear reader, this metaphor to explain how travelling through Warp space works; that of a fast flowing stream. The stream represents Warp space moving swiftly along its motionless banks, which represent real space. A corpse dropped into the water upstream will not move relative to the water, but is merely carried by it until it lodges at some point downstream from its original location."_

-Volume 1, Chapter 1, Space Lanes of The Imperium and the Perils of the Galaxy

**::::**

An immense amount of work went into moving soldiers from planetside to spaceships. The bulk of the work was done by Munitorium staff. In total, seven Beligarso regiments were being taken to the stars. The 75th Air-Assault and 99th Aviation Regiments always traveled together, and for this journey they were joined by five Beligarso regiments; the reinforced veteran units 4th and 5th Aero-Rifles, and two newly founded units the 102nd and 103rd Aero-Rifles and finally the Beligarso 10th Light Armor Regiment. Furthermore, the Mechanicus-staffed _Zeon-44_ Engineering Regiment joined the others in orbit. In total, Beligarso gave up twenty-five thousand Imperial warriors (and another thousand Mechanicus servants) for the God-Emperor's Wars.

For the combat aviators of the 99th when their aircraft were packed into transports they had little to do. When they took away the flight simulators, they took to being foot soldiers again. They reported where they were told to report; lasguns on shoulders, helmets on head. Did what duty officers told them to do. Most acted as aids to Control and Command, but only so many people could assist. Many spent hours patrolling the slowly empting military complex of Fort Agbadza.

Towards the end of the second week of the embarkment period, the combat aviators of the 99th were ordered to climb aboard their transport craft and join their machines already in space. The massive aero-astro craft could fit two thousand people, and the small number in the 99th left them feeling lonely in the cavernous hold.

Officially, the regiment had only seven hundred guardsmen, two for each of the six aircraft that made up the fifty-four squadrons, and a command unit – led by Air Colonel Sergi Zelekin. The addition of the air controllers, vox teams, and technical officers brought the regiment up to nearly one thousand. The operations and technical teams officially reported to another command structure, the Headquarters of the Lord General, but for all practical purposes they answered to Air Colonel. The unit's groundcrew, the fixers and fitters, and Valkyrie door-gunners were the same. They technically reported to the Quartermaster's Office of the 99th Air-Assault Regiment, but they as well answered to the Air Colonel of the 75th.

Flight time was three hours and after slinging heavy kit bags over their backs they made their way down the ramp onto the belly of the _Iron Dragonfly_.

Naval deck officers directed them to the accom-blocks and the aviators settled in. Monster Squadron was given a suite of rooms that shared a large common living space. The flight pairs split off into separate cabins. Jonah, as the unit commander, was given a room to himself, but instead opted to share quarters with Zero. They flew as a team, they would life as a team. He turned the empty room into his private office. For those how had never traveled in space, it was very exciting. For the veterans, space travel was dull and dulling. And required that special rituals be fulfilled.

**::::**

After the initial settling in period, there was not much to do – morning roll call, daily meetings, classes, lectures and time in the flight sims, as well as regular exercise and small arms practice.

Late during the first night-cycle Jonah called the squadron together, "Monsters, get in here!"

The aviators wondered in from their various rooms, in various states of dress, and waited to hear what Jonah had to say. "Roll call ... Zero, Khan, Hotblack. Where's Hotblack? Oh there you are … put some trousers on you idiot. Hristos, Cassavecchio, the indomitable Sun, Turnwater, Ichthy, Grixti, Octus, and Atellus. Right, everyone's here and accounted for. Good. As tradition dictates, it's time to begin the gaming sweeps. Gather around the table, Balor, get the cards."

They set up the lounge and gathered around. Cards were dealt, and a couple of big bottle of _vrackie_ were produced. Turnwater, the eldest of the group was nominated Vrackie Keeper, and had the honor of pouring the drinks. They played and talked, laughed and insulted each other.

Zero fiddled with her cards, calculating odds, and asked, "Balor what was your first flight with Ignis like?"

Sun looked at Jonah and thought, "Awkward, I'd say."

"Oh?" Jonah replied.

"Yes," Sun said, "You can be a bit difficult to get along with."

"How so?" Jonah, mocking hurt.

Sun ignored him and took a slug of _vrackie_ before he continued, "It wasn't the first flight that is of any interest. It was one particular flight on … where was it? Shantram II maybe…"

"Oh yes!" Jonah laughed loudly, suddenly remembering the incident. He interrupted and took up the story. "I've never seen anything like it. We were flying through a storm of shit. Literally!" Jonah laughed so hard his face turned red and he was unable to speak.

Sun leaned forward and put his hand on Jonah's arm and said with a big, board smile, "We were just taking off when a flock of, oh I don't know, a few million fat-bodied Ethels flew overhead. All of a sudden, as if by some sort of command they all simultaneously emptied their bowels."

Jonahed laughed even harder, slapping the table repeatedly.

"It was so much waste and so thick it blocked most of the windows. I was worried about the intake valves."  
"Intake valves!" Jonahed howled with mirth.

"We had to abort take off. Us and three other craft. Incredible."

Sun and Jonah laughed together and in a quick secession mentioned names and places the other pilots did not know of. Zero felt a momentary pang of jealousy. Not for either Jonah or Sun, but for her lack of comradeship with her fellow aviators.

They were all Beligarso born and breed, olive-skinned with dark, strong features. She, with her fair hair, blue eyes, and pale skin, looked completely different. And she was Machine Cultist. While the rest of them worshipped the Emperor as the God of Mankind; she saw the Emperor in a totally fundamentally different light. He was the Omnissiah, the God of all Machines, the Ghost in the System, the Logic in the Mathematics. She was so difference from them, in form and thought, she feared they could never share a bond as strong as native people who shared the same belief.

Our interfaces are too different to complete the circuit, she thought to herself.

"What's with the frown, Gia," Jonah asked, seeing her turned down face.

She shook her head and shrugged.

Jonah raised an eyebrow but let it pass, instead he asked, "What was it like growing up on Clamp?"

"Yeah," asked Hristos. The others nodded encouragingly. Clamp was a world off-limit to casual travelers and that made it mysterious.

She pressed her lips together and looked nervous, "I'm not sure I should speak about it."

The others looked at her oddly.

Jonah said, "Well, we won't tell if you don't," he smiled and tapped his nose knowingly.

Zero's face flushed red and she suddenly got very anxious. She tried to play it off easily, "No, I can't. I'm not supposed too. Mechanicus code and all that."

"Oh come on!" Jonah exclaimed good-naturedly, tossing his poor hand of cards onto the table.

"Don't push me," she shouted, and slammed her cards down on the table. Her attempt at causal humored now gone. She would not tolerate anyone tampering with her tech-faith. The mood around the table got awkward.

Jonah nodded to her slowly, "Alright, Gia. I'm sorry. I won't step on anyone beliefs, or principles, or programme of belief."

She stared at him for long moment, then shrugged. He cheeks were bright red. She said, "Yeah, fine. Who's dealing?"

Cassavecchio looked at Jonah from behind his cards, "That so?", he muttered.

"Yes, Grecho, that's so."

He suddenly grinned, as if Jonah had walked into an ambush. He laid his cards down methodically and said, "You won't step on my beliefs?"

Jonah looked up, realizing he had walked into an ambush.

"Grecho …" Jonah started, but did not know what to say to avoid the impending conversation.

"Yeah? Do you have something to say? About my _beliefs_?"

Jonah looked to Sun, but the big man was staring at Cassavecchio with an odd look on his face. He did not know what so say; and he knew what Cassavecchio was getting at. _Separatism_.

It was not something Jonah remotely believed in, or even liked, and it made him uncomfortable that one of his own was an out-spoken Separatist. They were a cult that believed Beligarso was better off without the Imperium. While it was a blatantly heretical statement, Jonah did not think them heretics. He thought Separatist were foolish, and having the temperament of stubborn children throwing a tantrum. He could not understand why they did not just get over _it_.

"It" happened three hundred years pervious. A group of city-states in the mountainous region of central Sarten tried to throw off Imperial rule. They had been successful initially, winning several small conflicts and taking the fortified loyalist port-town of Omedeo. The planetary governor of Beligarso at the time as a weak-willed and feckless man named Cambredo. He knew he could not defeat the uprising, so he named a ruthless brute of man named Mortis as his _Kyrios of Fornix_ – the tradition term of the military commander of the armed might of all Fornix.

The man gathered his army under the Imperial Aquila, and landed an enormous force south of Omedeo. He attacked and destroyed the garrison there, mutilating the rebel bodies, and letting his forces sack and pillage the nearby countryside. Kyrios Mortis then turned inland and waged a terrifying campaign which climaxed in the ten-day burning of the mountain stronghold of Ulo Torsi. Fornix soldiers were then stationed to garrison, occupy the Sartenese would say, the inland mountains for over two hundred years. The heavy-handed nature of the campaign and the hundreds of years of oppression had left a lingering resentment towards Fornix in particular and the Imperium in general.

Jonah's personal beliefs aside, he was a Captain in the Imperial Guard. One of his responsibilities was to report all acts of heresy and sedition to the Commissariat. While Seperatism was not banned outright, it was in no way encouraged and those who professed it where often unofficially persecuted. Cassavecchio would never receive a promotion, and likely won't ever see any medals either.

Jonah put down his cards and learned forwards onto the table. He looked Cassavecchio straight in the eyes, "Grecho, I want to make myself perfectly clear. While I might tolerate some deviation from the Imperial norm, others will not. Before you go any further and make any comments that can be counted as heresy or sedition, you should decide what matters more to you. Where you are now, or your … belief. Do I make myself clear?"

"I am what I believe." Cassavecchio said hotly.

Sun said calmly, "As we all are."

Suddenly, Cassavecchio stood up aggressively and shouted, "Do you want to know what I believe in!" He ripped open his shirt, buttons shot off and pinged across the floor. He slapped his hand against his chest, over a large tattoo that dominated his torso. A mountain spire surrounded in flames. The symbol of the Sartenese separatist movement. "This is what I am!"

Jonah, not one to back down, leapt to his feet. But Sun was quicker, standing and slamming his fist on the table and he roared, "Stand down!" Everyone else pushed back from the table.

Cassavecchio stood panting, glaring at Jonah, daring him. Daring him.

Jonah reached over and put his hand on Sun's shoulder, and nudged him to sit down. Sun looked at him out of the corner of his eye. They locked eyes for a second.

It was all Sun needed to see to know. He sat down slowly. This confrontation was between two men.

Jonah looked at Cassavecchio. He was a lean man with tight muscles across his chest and abs. His face was handsome, but had small scars across the nose, eyebrows, and chin. Evidence of a history of smalltime fist fights. The sharp gleam in his dark eyes was the same look Jonah remembered seeing in Commissar Cave's eyes as he held a gun to his face. Fanatical.

Jonah said firmly, in a tone of voice the booked to argument, "Be seated."

Cassavecchio remained standing for a long moment, long enough to let Jonah know he was not the boss of him.

Jonah stared at him for a long time. Eventually he said, "Grecho, there is no Imperial law forbidding Beligarso's Seperatist movement's existence, and no Guard regulation prohibiting its practice. Personally, I find it disgusting and defeatist, but that's not for me to decide. You're belief is your own. However, now listen good to this part. That belief, paired with your temper will be the death of you. I am not your enemy, none of us are." He waved his hands at the people sitting around them. "Don't make us your enemy."

Cassavecchio made to reply caustically, but Jonah talked over him, "You're gonna mouth-off to the wrong 'Garso some day! And they'll put a las in your brain or a knife in your gut."

"I'd die for my beliefs."

"So would I," Jonah snapped, "but I, _will,_ do it facing the Imperium's true dangers. The heretic, the xeno, and the mutant. I'll not die for being a smart-ass religious punk with an attitude problem who gets shivved by an angry drunk in the back of some dirty canteen toilet."

**::::**

The confrontation between Jonah and Cassavecchio was not over, only defused, delayed. It would come back to haunt them both. The night went on, and the crews played cards, drank _vrackie_, and told stories. As the only veterans Jonah and Sun told the lion's share.

"What's the crazy-bravest thing you've ever seen?" Jonah asked Sun.

"Crazy-Brave, huh?" Sun said. The others stopped chatting amongst themselves listened up.

Sun thought about it for a few moments, organizing the cards in his hand.

"On Morgan's World, I was pulling a stint as a door-gunner on a Valkryie," he explained helpfully to the others. "We were flying some staff officers to a comms relay station up in the highlands. This outpost was perched on an outcropping of jungle covered rock. We put down on a small landing pad, not much larger then the Valk itself. I escorted the officers to the building, and was told that it'd be a few hours. I reported back to the pilot, and he suggested that we stand down. Someone had to stay with the craft, the chief said he would, and I volunteered to stay with him. So the pilot and navvie when into the station … which I would like to add had excellent air condition." He wiggled his empty drink at Turnwater, keeper of the _vrackie_, who slashed some sugar liquor into the glass.

"I was sitting there with the chief, my life fluids pouring out of my skin, staring into the jungle when I heard a noise. It was a long ways off, but I recognized it. It was a combustion engine. I stepped out of the Valk and walked around until I spotted it."

"As I stood there with the chief," Sun shielded his eyes with his hand and pretended to look off onto the horizon, "A small speck on the horizon. An aircraft, getting bigger. I didn't think much of it, and I certainly didn't think it was an enemy flyer. We had complete control of the air." He looked to Jonah to confirm the fact. Jonah fiddled with his cards and absently nodded in agreement.

"So you can imagine my surprise when the chief said, "That ain't right." The aircraft was an open-toped biwing flyer. A relic … or at least a replicate of a relic. Where they'd found it, and learned to fly it, I'll never know. It flew right over our heads, about twenty meters high. As it passed I saw it was a two-seater. The pilot in the front, and the bomber in the back. The man in the back was leaning over the side of the aircraft, a heavy cord in his hands, big goggles on his face."

Sun could not help but grin at the thought of strange episode, "As the craft flies over the station, the bomber pulls the heavy cord, and I guess it released the catch on a row of bombs under the lower wings. The bombs dropped and some hit the station. Some hit around the building, a few even rolled off the roof. Most were duds, but some exploded."

"Now, the craft did not have the height to climb over the mountain behind the station, so the pilot pulled a quick, hard turn, flying back around the station. After a moment I saw that it was lining-up the Valk in what is obviously a strafe. The chief and I looked at each other and started running towards the station like our boots were on fire." He used two of his fingers to mimic running across the table.

"Just as it was lining up, the station doors flew open and the pilot, navvie, and staffers bolted out, sprinting for all their worth. We passed each other, headed in different directions. Behind the others came this Guardsmen, rifle held high. I don't know his regiment, but he was about your size, Zero. A tiny man, short and skinny, not much more then a piece of puke in a uniform."

"The little fella, ran out straight on to the landing pad, screaming his head off. It was only then did I realize he had his bayonet fixed. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I won't have believed it. The aircraft opened in with its stubbers, the rounds throwing up dirt and dust in two lines. The Guardsmen opened fire with his lasgun, full auto. Then the craft roared past him. I watched the machine tilt left, it's engine throwing-up smoke, then it disappeared over the ridge." He used his free hand to mime an aircraft hitting the card table, and exploding. "I heard it crash about twenty seconds later."

"I started running towards the Guardsmen, only to see him walking out of a cloud of dust. The tiny man just walked passed me without a single look. Crazy-bravest thing I ever saw was that little man bayonet-charging a strafing aircraft."

**::::**

Day-cycle had arrived and the twelve were still up; though now they were drinking more and playing less. The griped to one another, complaining about _the Guard_ this and _my wife_ that. Some of the young men compared stories of female conquest. The older ones shared tales of life lessons, hard learned.

A siren sounded and most of them jumped, or rather stumbled, up to their feet. Looking around confused and baffled. Hotblack had passed out hours before and slide off the table, crashing to the floor in an unmoving heap.

"What in Warp's-Name is that sound?" Itchty asked, scratching his head.

"Are we under attack?" Cassavecchio asked, supporting himself on the table, looking like he was going to vomit.

"I wish they'd just blow us up already…" muttered Turnwater, taking another swig from a _vrackie_ bottle.

Sun, one of only two people still seated said, "That's the morning bell."

Jonah groaned, "We have rollcall in thirty minutes."

"What?" shouted Zero, turning and rushing to her quarters. She tripped over a chair and fell. The others stumbled to follow suit, rushing to their quarters. Khan grabbed Hotblack by the armpits and started dragging him.

Jonah called out drunkenly, "Wait! Wait! You can't go yet."

They all stopped and looked at him - drunk and puzzled.

He waved his cards in the air, "I've got a great hand!"

They swore at him and tried their hardest to get sober and ready for morning inspection. Jonah and Sun, did not try nearly as hard. They put on their dark green utility coveralls and shambled out to line up with the rest of the squads that answered their flock Commander Odavos. As soon as inspection started Jonah vomited. Odavos, his eyes hidden behind mirrored aviator glare-shades, looked at the spew near his boot, and Jonah, and back to the spew. He grunted, stepped over the vomit, and shuffled his way along the line. He was obviously still drunk.

The Warp was an unnatural place, and as tradition dictated, no 'Garso went into the Warp their first time in a natural state.


	17. The High and The Mighty

**Chapter XV**

**The High and The Mighty**

**::::**

"_I have at my command an entire battle group of the Imperial Guard. Fifty Regiments, including specialized drop troops, stealthers, mechanized formations, armored companies, combat engineers and mobile artillery. Over half a million fighting mean and thirty thousand tanks and artillery pieces are mine to command. Emperor show mercy to the fool that stands against me, for I shall not."_

-Warmaster Demetrius at the outset of the Salonika Crusade, 733.M38

**::::**

The _Iron Dragonfly_ exited the Warp and made orbit around the world called Dion - First-planet of the Sector and home to the Sector's High Lord. Near space around the hive-world was dense with nearly a thousand starships. A mighty armada.

It took the better part of twenty hours to gather the hundreds of people Carinonova Draco III had ordered to his ship. The day-cycle they did he got up earlier than usual. He read his morning scriptures, exercised, washed, shaved and dressed. With some time on his hands, and a few butterfly wriggling around in his guts, he opted to touch up a painting he been working on. He stepped up the wooden easel and looked at the picture. It was of the wild gardens behind his estate home on Beligarso. The wild plants were unbarbered and allowed to grow as nature intended. Often time his steward asked, begged even, to be allowed to tidy the garden. Draco never allowed him. No one touched his garden.

Draco was a dab hand with a brush, easily adding to the scene. Layers of color and shadow. After a few moments he stepped back and tried to match the image in his head to the image on the canvas. Coming along nicely, Draco thought.

A small bell chimed.

"It opens," said Draco, eyes never leaving the picture.

"Morning, General," said a man.

"Stave, what do you think?"

The older man, wearing a Beligarso junior officer's uniform, stepped up next to the General. "I don't agree with the colors." The man stepped to the canvas and pointed, "here, here, and here. They're not right."

The general said, "It's my garden, Stave. You'd think I know what it looks like."

Stave replied, "So you would, sir."

Draco waved the brush threatening at Stave, "Stave, I'm not in the mood for your antics."

"Yes, General."

"Are we ready?" Draco asked, dropping the brush into a cup of dark water.

"Yes, General. The Confederation is gathering. We can begin whenever you're ready."

Draco nodded and pulled up his dress coat from the back of a chair. Stave stepped forward and clasped the buttons of the complex net of gold frogging. Stave passed him his cap. Draco slipped it on and turned. He marched from his stately quarters, a squad of veteran Stormtroopers from his Life Company followed, weapons held ready to defend their master.

Draco walked a short distance and paused at metal hatch. Stave pressed his hand to the activation panel, and after a moment the high-clearance door opened and the General swept through.

**::::**

Nearly five-hundred people stood up as Draco entered the room. They all saluted and Draco made them wait until he reached the lectern before returning their salute, snappish.

The Confederation of Colonels was the collected body of all regimental senior officers. Even if they were not colonels in name. Their representative might was enough to conqueror a whole sub-sector. This was its intent.

"Be seated," Draco said. For the confederates who had never seen Draco before they saw a tall man, build like an endurance athlete. Rangy and strong. His face was the proud eagle-like face of many Beligarsos. He wore the white uniform of the Office of the Lord General, with gold frogging across his chest and red epithets. On his shoulders were gold patches of two-head eagles. His lower sleeves were ringed with rank hoops. A red stripe ran down the outside of his trousers, to the polished black shoes. Hidden amongst the refinery of his uniform, he had pinned on his old rank pins from his days in the 75th Air-Assault and the 99th Aviation regiments. Never forget where you came from, was one of his old mottos.

He looked at the officers gathered before him. Some he had known and soldiered with for years, others he only just met, and some he had yet to be introduced to. However, he knew them all. He had studied their files, both official and unofficial, and he remembered everything he saw.

The diversity of the Dion Sector, and its four sub-sectors, could be seen in the men and women who sat on those benches. Soldiers from the world-systems of Trident Supercluster, Reap Worlds, and Wasp, and even the Heart of Emptyness. Some had come with only one aid, others had packs of assistants and servants. Most were dressed in modern Guard kit, though some dressed in old-fashioned archaic uniforms or even barbarous furs.

The lords of fifty-nine Imperial regiments were here, the rest of people were representatives from the other Imperial powers. Eight Admirals from the Navy, five Magi of the Mechanicum, one Lord Commissar, three Pontifex of the Ecclesiarchy, and two Commanders from Munitorum. One man lurking quietly on the bench at the back of the auditorium was Inquisitor Bonifaz, of the Ordo Hereticus. Beside Bonifaz stood a towering, power-armored form of Captain Bos of the Minotaur Chapter. Those men and women there were tip of the Imperial iceberg; below them were nearly a million combat trained guardsmen, forty-five thousands armored vehicles, a thousand starships, hundreds of battle-psykers, two companies of Minotaur Space Marines on stand-by, and two dozen irreplaceable titans.

They were there to listen, and watch, and judge the newly appointed Lord General. Down on the front benches seven Beligarso men sat together; Dios of the Air-Assault, Zelekin of the Aviators. The old hands Hamilcar and Atolien. The light-armor boss, Weun. The two officers new to regimental command, Phsmik and Bledo. He gave them the slightest smile. Across the aisle from them sat the leaders of the regiments of Dion. Fifteen units strong. They were severe men in dark brown uniforms, highlighted with gold and silver. Dionian's were an unhappy people by nature, and when Draco was selected to lead this Task Force their senior officer, General Axamana, made their displeasure known through official channels and barded words at private meetings.

Draco knew he had to keep them in check.

Behind these clusters of green and brown clothed soldiers, thirty-six other colonels sat in the high tiered benches. Draco recognized the bronze uniforms of the men of Reap and the flashy ivory and carmine of Zusak. He saw the maroons of the warriors from Oracle, of the Trident Supercluster and the asparagus of the warrior-women of Ath, of the Wasp. On the right was the azure of Parthenope, and the silver of Serenity. Isolated for the others, was the ash of Cestus Vale – no one wished to sit near the officers of the penitentiary world. On the left, there was a cluster of Merity black and with a single spot of Adare charcoal. In the middle of the auditorium was the cerulean of Rykin, olive of Hellican, and the byzantium jackets of Esttain. Towards the back sat a man in commissar black, the Captain-Commissar of the newly raised regiments of Morgan's World, who's attendant officers wore plain bleached white uniforms as a sign of penitence and purity.

Draco nodded.

"Good on ya, sir!" shouted Zelekin. Others started shouting, the Dionian's sat silently.

Draco frowned and raised his hand for silence.

"I stand humbly before you a son of the God-Emperor of Mankind. I have been honored with the task of reclaiming the Heart of Emptyness. And so have you. You will join me in the crusade to return the wayward sub-sector to the fold. Where once the Throne claimed thirty-six system-worlds, now the Aquila only flies on two, Adare and Jaxholme and both of those worlds are on the sub-system's edge, close to The Wasp. The interior is a mystery. Some of the worlds have not been heard from in over five hundred years, Imperial-standard."

He paused and looked over the lords, "The task will take years, and many lives. Even of those of us in this room. I do not know what we'll find there. But I know what we'll leave. A shining beacon that the God-Emperor himself will see from the Golden Throne on Holy Terra!"

**::::**

Forty-eight hours later Lord General Draco spoke from the command throne of the _Iron_ _Dragonfly_, now designated flagship of Fleet Espada. His voice was broadcast across all the ships of the fleet, the spacestations around Dion, the Hiveworld, and was repeated across the entire Sector. On that fateful day hundreds of billions of people heard him say, "Imperial Warriors, let us bring the light and glory of the Throne to those who dwell in darkness and shame. The Imperium does not forget its worlds, nor does it absolve worlds of their responsibility. Decades may have passed, but duty to the Imperium remains. May the God-Emperor have mercy on worlds found wanting, for I will not. Commence the Liberation of the Heart of the Emptyness."

**::::**

After the gathering of the Confederation of Colonels, and the announcement of Departure, Draco retired to his ornate meeting suite high on the spine of the _Iron Dragonfly_. Once there, he dismissed all his aids and had Zelekin summoned to him alone.

The Air Colonel was announced by Stave who waited in the annex and Zelekin waddled in. Over the last few months his bulk continued to increase. The man strained the limited of his dark green dress uniform, sweat glistened on his forehead. Draco frowned at the state of him.

Zelekin stood at attention and saluted very formally; once he had been a rising star amongst Draco's senior officers, but after the disaster at the Battle of Morgania he and the Lord General had not spoken directly in nearly a year.

The Lord General clicked his tongue in thought, returned the salute and waved a hand an expensive grox-hide chair in front of his massive bloodwood desk, the fat man slumped down. A silent servitor rolled to him from a gilt-framed cavity set in the wall, and Zelekin helped himself to a large _vrackie_ drink. He raised the glass to Draco and said, "Here's to you boss," and gulped it down in one. He helped himself to refill.

Draco did not stand up when he said, but he did lean forward with intent, "You're a useless bastard, Zelekin."

The Air Colonel sputtered his drink and looked liked a wounded animal. "My Lord?"

"When I appointed you Colonel of the 99th I had high hopes for you. High hopes. You're a disgrace."

Zelekin sat up straight, for all his faults, he was a proud, tough man and took the dressing-down on the chin. "Have I not lived up to your expectations, sir?"

Draco shrugged, "At times, yes. You know what this is about."

"Morgania."

Draco nodded. "Your hubris lost me a great deal of prestige. You're lack of reck lost me many true-and-through veterans. I'm of the mind to dismiss from regimental command."

Zelekin's already red face turned a darker shade, but he nodded slowly, "If that is your wish, Lord, I will stand down."

"Sergi," Draco said, "Sergi, you're on your last leg here. I will not tolerate any more mistakes, understand me?"

"Yes Lord, fully." Zelekin said, "How may I return to your grace, sir?"

Draco was satisfied that Zelekin knew the gravity of the situation. "My grace? Never shame me again, that's how."

"Yes Lord General." Zelekin let out a small breathe of relief, realizing that he was not going to punished or demoted.

Draco turned his head slightly and said, "You're opportunity starts now. The 99th will be going with General Axamana in the vanguard. It departs in two days, standard. If I hear one," Draco held up a single finger, "one report of poor performance I will come down on you like the Wrath of the Emperor."

Zelekin nodded slowly then said, "Sir, that Dionian hive-scum Axamana hates you, everyone knows it. He'll hate me too. Making my position rather untenable."

Draco frowned darkly for a long moment, "Protecting yourself of failure already, Zelekin? You disgust me, get out. Do your job or I'll find someone else who can."

Zelekin stood up quickly, snapped a salute and waddled as quickly as he could to the hatch. Just before he reached for the handle Draco called out from behind him, "Also, take some damned exercise you fat frakker. You hardly fit into your dress greens."

Zelekin whirled around and said loudly, "Yes, Lord General!"

Draco waved his hand him, and Zelekin left. Draco leaned back in his chair and watched the departing Air Colonel through the open hatch. He clicked his tongue thoughtfully.


End file.
